“Nothing—” said Fleda,—but
she made her escape out of the room the next instant.
“Mamma,” said Edith, “what ails
Fleda?”
“I don’t know, my love,” said Mrs.
Evelyn. “Nothing, I hope.”
“There does, though,” said Edith decidedly.
“Come here, Edith,” said Constance, “and
don’t meddle with matters above your comprehension.
Miss Ringgan has probably hurt her hand with throwing
stones.”
“Hurt her hand!” said Edith. But
she was taken possession of by her eldest sister.
“That is a lovely girl, Mr. Carleton,”
said Mrs. Evelyn with an indescribable look—outwardly
benign, but beneath that most keen in its scrutiny.
He bowed rather abstractedly.
“She will make a charming little farmer’s
wife, don’t you think so?”
“Is that her lot, Mrs. Evelyn?” he said
with a somewhat incredulous smile.
“Why no—not precisely,—”
said the lady,—“you know in the country,
or you do not know, the ministers are half farmers,
but I suppose not more than half; just such a mixture
as will suit Fleda, I should think. She has not
told me in so many words, but it is easy to read so
ingenuous a nature as hers, and I have discovered
that there is a most deserving young friend of mine
settled at Queechy that she is by no means indifferent
to. I take it for granted that will be the end
of it,” said Mrs. Evelyn, pinching her sofa
cushion in a great many successive places with a most
composed and satisfied air.
But Mr. Carleton did not seem at all interested in
the subject, and presently introduced another.
It is a hard matter for friends to meet;
but mountains may be removed
with earthquakes, and so encounter.—As
You Like It.
“What have we to do to-night?” said Florence
at breakfast the next morning.
“You have no engagement, have you?” said
her mother.
“No mamma,” said Constance arching her
eyebrows,—“we are to taste the sweets
of domestic life—you as head of the family
will go to sleep in the dormeuse, and Florence and
I shall take turns in yawning by your side.”
“And what will Fleda do?” said Mrs. Evelyn
laughing.
“Fleda, mamma, will be wrapped in remorseful
recollections of having enacted a mob last evening
and have enough occupation in considering how she
shall repair damages.”
“Fleda, my dear, she is very saucy,” said
Mrs. Evelyn, sipping her tea with great comfort.
“Why should we yawn to-night any more than last
night?” said Fleda; a question which Edith would
certainly have asked if she had not been away at school.
The breakfast was too late for both her and her father.
“Last night, my dear, your fractious disposition
kept us upon half breath; there wasn’t time
to yawn. I meant to have eased my breast by laughing
afterwards, but that expectation was stifled.”
