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"Depends upon what order you keep your wishes in," said Lois. "You canhave strawberries in June – and grapes in September."

"What order do you keep your wishes in?" was the next question.

"I think it best to have as few as possible."

"But that would reduce life to a mere framework of life, – if one had nowishes!"

"One can find something else to fill it up," said Lois.

"Pray what would you substitute? For with wishes I connect theaccomplishment of wishes."

"Are they always connected?"

"Not always; but generally, the one are the means to the other."

"I believe I do not find it so."

"Then, pardon me, what would you substitute, Miss Lothrop, to fill upyour life, and not have it a bare existence?"

"There is always work – " said Lois shyly; "and there are the pleasuresthat come without being wished for. I mean, without being particularlysought and expected."

"Does much come that way?" asked their entertainer, with an increduloussmile of mockery.

"O, a great deal!" cried Lois; and then she checked herself.

"This is a very interesting investigation, Mrs. Wishart," said thegentleman. "Do you think I may presume upon Miss Lothrop's good nature, and carry it further?"

"Miss Lothrop's good nature is a commodity I never knew yet to fail."

"Then I will go on, for I am curious to know, with an honest desire toenlarge my circle of knowledge. Will you tell me, Miss Lothrop, whatare the pleasures in your mind when you speak of their coming unsought?"

Lois tried to draw back. "I do not believe you would understand them,"she said a little shyly.

"I trust you do my understanding less than justice!"

"No," said Lois, blushing, "for your enjoyments are in another line."

"Please indulge me, and tell me the line of yours."

He is laughing at me, thought Lois. And her next thought was, Whatmatter! So, after an instant's hesitation, she answered simply.

"To anybody who has travelled over the world, Shampuashuh is a smallplace; and to anybody who knows all you have been talking about, whatwe know at Shampuashuh would seem very little. But every morning it isa pleasure to me to wake and see the sun rise; and the fields, and theriver, and the Sound, are a constant delight to me at all times of day, and in all sorts of weather. A walk or a ride is always a greatpleasure, and different every time. Then I take constant pleasure in mywork."

"Mrs. Wishart," said the gentleman, "this is a revelation to me. Wouldit be indiscreet, if I were to ask Miss Lothrop what she can possiblymean under the use of the term 'work'?"

I think Mrs. Wishart considered that it would be rather indiscreet, and wished Lois would be a little reticent about her home affairs.Lois, however, had no such feeling.

"I mean work," she said. "I can have no objection that anybody shouldknow what our life is at home. We have a little farm, very small; itjust keeps a few cows and sheep. In the house we are three sisters; andwe have an old grandmother to take care of, and to keep the house, andmanage the farm."

"But surely you cannot do that last?" said the gentleman.

"We do not manage the cows and sheep," said Lois, smiling; "men's handsdo that; but we make the butter, and we spin the wool, and we cultivateour garden. That we do ourselves entirely; and we have a good gardentoo. And that is one of the things," added Lois, smiling, "in which Itake unending pleasure."

"What can you do in a garden?"

"All there is to do, except ploughing. We get a neighbour to do that."

"And the digging?"

"I can dig," said Lois, laughing.

"But do not?"

"Certainly I do."

"And sow seeds, and dress beds?"

"Certainly. And enjoy every moment of it. I do it early, before the sungets hot. And then, there is all the rest; gathering the fruit, andpulling the vegetables, and the care of them when we have got them; andI take great pleasure in it all. The summer mornings and springmornings in the garden are delightful, and all the work of a garden isdelightful, I think."

"You will except the digging?"

"You are laughing at me," said Lois quietly. "No, I do not except thedigging. I like it particularly. Hoeing and raking I do not like halfso well."

"I am not laughing," said Mr. Dillwyn, "or certainly not at you. If atanybody, it is myself. I am filled with admiration."

"There is no room for that either," said Lois. "We just have it to do, and we do it; that is all."

"Miss Lothrop, I never have had to do anything in my life, since Ileft college."

Lois thought privately her own thoughts, but did not give themexpression; she had talked a great deal more than she meant to do.Perhaps Mrs. Wishart too thought there had been enough of it, for shebegan to make preparations for departure.

"Mrs. Wishart," said Mr. Dillwyn, "I have to thank you for the greatestpleasure I have enjoyed since I landed."

"Unsought and unwished-for, too, according to Miss Lothrop's theory.Certainly we have to thank you, Philip, for we were in a distressedcondition when you found us. Come and see me. And," she added sottovoce as he was leading her out, and Lois had stepped on before them,"I consider that all the information that has been given you isstrictly in confidence."

"Quite delicious confidence!"

"Yes, but not for all ears," added Mrs. Wishart somewhat anxiously.

"I am glad you think me worthy. I will not abuse the trust."

"I did not say I thought you worthy," said the lady, laughing; "I wasnot consulted. Young eyes see the world in the fresh colours ofmorning, and think daisies grow everywhere."

They had reached the street. Mr. Dillwyn accompanied the ladies a partof their way, and then took leave of them.

CHAPTER V
IN COUNCIL

Sauntering back to his hotel, Mr. Dillwyn's thoughts were a good dealengaged with the impressions of the last hour. It was odd, too; he hadseen all varieties and descriptions of feminine fascination, or hethought he had; some of them in very high places, and with all theadventitious charms which wealth and place and breeding can add tothose of nature's giving. Yet here was something new. A novelty asfresh as one of the daisies Mrs. Wishart had spoken of. He had seendaisies too before, he thought; and was not particularly fond of thatstyle. No; this was something other than a daisy.

Sauntering along and not heeding his surroundings, he was suddenlyhailed by a joyful voice, and an arm was thrust within his own.

"Philip! where did you come from? and when did you come?"

"Only the other day – from Egypt – was coming to see you, but have beenbothered with custom-house business. How do you all do, Tom?"

"What are you bringing over? curiosities? or precious things?"

"Might be both. How do you do, old boy?"

"Very much put out, just at present, by a notion of my mother's; shewill go to Florida to escape March winds."

"Florida! Well, Florida is a good place, when March is stalking abroadlike this. What are you put out for? I don't comprehend."

"Yes, but you see, the month will be half over before she gets ready tobe off; and what's the use? April will be here directly; she might justas well wait here for April."

"You cannot pick oranges off the trees here in April. You forget that."

"Don't want to pick 'em anywhere. But come along, and see them at home.

They'll be awfully glad to see you."

It was not far, and talking of nothings the two strolled that way.There was much rejoicing over Philip's return, and much curiosityexpressed as to where he had been and what he had been doing for a longtime past. Finally, Mrs. Caruthers proposed that he should go on toFlorida with them.

"Yes, do!" cried Tom. "You go, and I'll stay."

"My dear Tom!" said his mother, "I could not possibly do without you."

"Take Julia. I'll look after the house, and Dillwyn will look afteryour baggage."

"And who will look after you, you silly boy?" said his sister. "You'rethe worst charge of all."

"What is the matter?" Philip asked now.

"Women's notions," said Tom. "Women are always full of notions! Theycan spy game at hawk's distance; only they make a mistake sometimes, which the hawk don't, I reckon; and think they see something when thereis nothing."

"We know what we see this time," said his sister. "Philip, he'sdreadfully caught."

"Not the first time?" said Dillwyn humorously. "No danger, is there?"

"There is real danger," said Miss Julia. "He is caught with animpossible country girl."

"Caught by her? Fie, Tom! aren't you wiser?"

"That's not fair!" cried Tom hotly. "She catches nobody, nor tries it,in the way you mean. I am not caught, either; that's more; but youshouldn't speak in that way."

"Who is the lady? It is very plain Tom isn't caught. But where is she?"

"She is a little country girl come to see the world for the first time.Of course she makes great eyes; and the eyes are pretty; and Tomcouldn't stand it." Miss Julia spoke laughing, yet serious.

"I should not think a little country girl would be dangerous to Tom."

"No, would you? It's vexatious, to have one's confidence in one'sbrother so shaken."

"What's the matter with her?" broke out Tom here. "I am not caught, asyou call it, neither by her nor with her; but if you want to discussher, I say, what's the matter with her?"

"Nothing, Tom!" said his mother soothingly; "there is nothing whateverthe matter with her; and I have no doubt she is a nice girl. But shehas no education."

"Hang education!" said Tom. "Anybody can pick that up. She can talk, Ican tell you, better than anybody of all those you had round your tablethe other day. She's an uncommon good talker."

"You are, you mean," said his sister; "and she listens and makes bigeyes. Of course nothing can be more delightful. But, Tom, she knowsnothing at all; not so much as how to dress herself."

"Wasn't she well enough dressed the other day?"

"Somebody arranged that for her."

"Well, somebody could do it again. You girls think so much ofdressing. It isn't the first thing about a woman, after all."

"You men think enough about it, though. What would tempt you to go outwith me if I wasn't assez bien mise? Or what would take any man downBroadway with his wife if she hadn't a hoop on?"

"Doesn't the lady in question wear a hoop?" inquired Philip.

"No, she don't."

"Singular want of taste!"

"Well, you don't like them; but, after all, it's the fashion, and onecan't help oneself. And, as I said, you may not like them, but youwouldn't walk with me if I hadn't one."

"Then, to sum up – the deficiencies of this lady, as I understand, are, – education and a hoop? Is that all?"

"By no means!" cried Mrs. Caruthers. "She is nobody, Philip. She comesfrom a family in the country – very respectable people, I have no doubt, but, – well, she is nobody. No connections, no habit of the world. Andno money. They are quite poor people."

"That is serious," said Dillwyn. "Tom is in such straitenedcircumstances himself. I was thinking, he might be able to provide thehoop; but if she has no money, it is critical."

"You may laugh!" said Miss Julia. "That is all the comfort one getsfrom a man. But he does not laugh when it comes to be his own case, andmatters have gone too far to be mended, and he is feeling theconsequences of his rashness."

"You speak as if I were in danger! But I do not see how it should cometo be 'my own case,' as I never even saw the lady. Who is she? andwhere is she? and how comes she – so dangerous – to be visiting you?"

All spoke now at once, and Philip heard a confused medley of "Mrs.Wishart" – "Miss Lothrop" – "staying with her" – "poor cousin" – "kind toher of course."

Mr. Dillwyn's countenance changed.

"Mrs. Wishart!" he echoed. "Mrs. Wishart is irreproachable."

"Certainly, but that does not put a penny in Miss Lothrop's pocket, norgive her position, nor knowledge of the world."

"What do you mean by knowledge of the world?" Mr. Dillwyn inquired withslow words.

"Why! you know. Just the sort of thing that makes the differencebetween the raw and the manufactured article," Miss Julia answered, laughing. She was comfortably conscious of being thoroughly"manufactured" herself. No crude ignorances or deficienciesthere. – "The sort of thing that makes a person at home and au fait everywhere, and in all companies, and shuts out awkwardnesses andinelegancies.

"Does it shut them out?"

"Why, of course! How can you ask? What else will shut them out? Allthat makes the difference between a woman of the world and a milkmaid."

"This little girl, I understand, then, is awkward and inelegant?"

"She is nothing of the kind!" Tom burst out. "Ridiculous!" But Dillwynwaited for Miss Julia's answer.

"I cannot call her just awkward," said Mrs. Caruthers.

"N-o," said Julia, "perhaps not. She has been living with Mrs. Wishart, you know, and has got accustomed to a certain set of things. She doesnot strike you unpleasantly in society, seated at a lunch table, forinstance; but of course all beyond the lunch table is like London to aLaplander."

Tom flung himself out of the room.

"And that is what you are going to Florida for?" pursued Dillwyn.

"You have guessed it! Yes, indeed. Do you know, there seems to benothing else to do. Tom is in actual danger. I know he goes very oftento Mrs. Wishart's; and you know Tom is impressible; and before we knowit he might do something he would be sorry for. The only thing is toget him away."

"I think I will go to Mrs. Wishart's too," said Philip. "Do you thinkthere would be danger?"

"I don't know!" said Miss Julia, arching her brows. "I never cancomprehend why the men take such furies of fancies for this girl or forthat. To me they do not seem so different. I believe this girl takesjust because she is not like the rest of what one sees every day."

"That might be a recommendation. Did it never strike you, Miss Julia, that there is a certain degree of sameness in our world? Not in nature, for there the variety is simply endless; but in our ways of living.Here the effort seems to be to fall in with one general pattern. Housesand dresses; and entertainments, and even the routine of conversation.Generally speaking, it is all one thing."

"Well," said Miss Julia, with spirit, "when anything is once recognizedas the right thing, of course everybody wants to conform to it."

"I have not recognized it as the right thing."

"What?"

"This uniformity."

"What would you have?"

"I think I would like to see, for a change, freedom and individuality.Why should a woman with sharp features dress her hair in a manner thatsets off their sharpness, because her neighbour with a classic head candraw it severely about her in close bands and coils, and so only thebetter show its nobility of contour? Why may not a beautiful head ofhair be dressed flowingly, because the fashion favours the people whohave no hair at all? Why may not a plain dress set off a fine figure, because the mode is to leave no unbroken line or sweeping draperyanywhere? And I might go on endlessly."

"I can't tell, I am sure," said Miss Julia; "but if one lives in theworld, it won't do to defy the world. And that you know as well as I."

"What would happen, I wonder?"

"The world would quietly drop you. Unless you are a person ofimportance enough to set a new fashion."

"Is there not some unworthy bondage about that?"

"You can't help it, Philip Dillwyn, if there is. We have got to take itas it is; and make the best of it."

"And this new Fate of Tom's – this new Fancy rather, – as I understand, she is quite out of the world?"

"Quite. Lives in a village in New England somewhere, and grows onions."

"For market?" said Philip, with a somewhat startled face.

"No, no!" said Julia, laughing – "how could you think I meant that? No;I don't know anything about the onions; but she has lived among farmersand sailors all her life, and that is all she knows. And it isperfectly ridiculous, but Tom is so smitten with her that all we can dois to get him away. Fancy, Tom!"

"He has got to come back," said Philip, rising. "You had better getsomebody to take the girl away."

"Perhaps you will do that?" said Miss Julia, laughing.

"I'll think of it," said Dillwyn as he took leave.

CHAPTER VI
HAPPINESS

Philip kept his promise. Thinking, however, he soon found, did notamount to much till he had seen more; and he went a few days after toMrs. Wishart's house.

It was afternoon. The sun was streaming in from the west, filling thesitting-room with its splendour; and in the radiance of it Lois wassitting with some work. She was as unadorned as when Philip had seenher the other day in the street; her gown was of some plain stuff, plainly made; she was a very unfashionable-looking person. But the goodfigure that Mr. Dillwyn liked to see was there; the fair outlines, simple and graceful, light and girlish; and the exquisite hair caughtthe light, and showed its varying, warm, bright tints. It was massed upsomehow, without the least artificiality, in order, and yet lying looseand wavy; a beautiful combination which only a few heads can attain to.

There was nobody else in the room; and as Lois rose to meet thevisitor, he was not flattered to see that she did not recognize him.Then the next minute a flash of light came into her face.

"I have had the pleasure," said Dillwyn. "I was afraid you were goingto ignore the fact."

"You gave us lunch the other day," said Lois, smiling. "Yes, Iremember. I shall always remember."

"You got home comfortably?"

"O yes, after we were so fortified. Mrs. Wishart was quite exhausted, before lunch, I mean."

"This is a pleasant situation," said Philip, going a step nearer thewindow.

"Yes, very! I enjoy those rocks very much."

"You have no rocks at home?"

"No rocks," said Lois; "plenty of rock, or stone; but it comes up outof the ground just enough to make trouble, not to give pleasure. Thecountry is all level."

"And you enjoy the variety?"

"O, not because it is variety. But I have been nowhere and have seennothing in my life."

"So the world is a great unopened book to you?" said Philip, with asmile regarding her.

"It will always be that, I think," Lois replied, shaking her head.

"Why should it?"

"I live at Shampuashuh."

"What then? Here you are in New York."

"Yes, wonderfully. But I am going home again."

"Not soon?"

"Very soon. It will be time to begin to make garden in a few days."

"Can the garden not be made without you?"

"Not very well; for nobody knows, except me, just where things wereplanted last year."

"And is that important?"

"Very important." Lois smiled at his simplicity. "Because many thingsmust be changed. They must not be planted where they were last year."

"Why not?"

"They would not do so well. They have all to shift about, likePuss-in-the-corner; and it is puzzling. The peas must go where the cornor the potatoes went; and the corn must find another place, and so on."

"And you are the only one who keeps a map of the garden in your head?"

"Not in my head," said Lois, smiling. "I keep it in my drawer."

"Ah! That is being more systematic than I gave you credit for."

"But you cannot do anything with a garden if you have not system."

"Nor with anything else! But where did you learn that?"

"In the garden, I suppose," said Lois simply.

She talked frankly and quietly. Mr. Dillwyn could see by her manner, hethought, that she would be glad if Mrs. Wishart would come in and takehim off her hands; but there was no awkwardness or ungracefulness orunreadiness. In fact, it was the grace of the girl that struck him, nother want of it. Then she was so very lovely. A quiet little figure, inher very plain dress; but the features were exceedingly fair, the clearskin was as pure as a pearl, the head with its crown of soft brighthair might have belonged to one of the Graces. More than all, was thevery rare expression and air of the face. That Philip could not read;he could not decide what gave the girl her special beauty. Something inthe mind or soul of her, he was sure; and he longed to get at it andfind out what it was.

She is not commonplace, he said to himself, while he was talkingsomething else to her; – but it is more than being not commonplace. Sheis very pure; but I have seen other pure faces. It is not that she is aMadonna; this is no creature

"… too bright and good For human nature's daily food."

But what "daily food" for human nature she would be! She is a loftycreature; yet she is a half-timid country girl; and I suppose she doesnot know much beyond her garden. Yes, probably Mrs. Caruthers wasright; she would not do for Tom. Tom is not a quarter good enough forher! She is a little country girl, and she does not know much; andyet – happy will be the man to whom she will give a free kiss of thosewise, sweet lips!

With these somewhat contradictory thoughts running through his mind,Mr. Dillwyn set himself seriously to entertain Lois. As she had nevertravelled, he told her of things he had seen – and things he had knownwithout seeing – in his own many journeyings about the world. PresentlyLois dropped her work out of her hands, forgot it, and turned upon Mr.Dillwyn a pair of eager, intelligent eyes, which it was a pleasure totalk to. He became absorbed in his turn, and equally; ministering tothe attention and curiosity and power of imagination he had aroused.What listeners her eyes were! and how quick to receive and keen to passjudgement was the intelligence behind them. It surprised him; however, its responses were mainly given through the eyes. In vain he tried toget a fair share of words from her too; sought to draw her out. Loiswas not afraid to speak; and yet, for sheer modesty and simpleness, that supposed her words incapable of giving pleasure and would notspeak them as a matter of conventionality, she said very few. At lastPhilip made a determined effort to draw her out.

"I have told you now about my home," he said. "What is yours like?" Andhis manner said, I am going to stop, and you are going to begin.

"There is nothing striking about it, I think," said Lois.

"Perhaps you think so, just because it is familiar to you."

"No, it is because there is really not much to tell about it. There arejust level farm fields; and the river, and the Sound."

"The river?"

"The Connecticut."

"O, that is where you are, is it? And are you near the river?"

"Not very near. About as near the river on one side as we are to the

Sound on the other; either of them is a mile and more away."

"You wish they were nearer?"

"No," said Lois; "I don't think I do; there is always the pleasure ofgoing to them."

"Then you should wish them further. A mile is a short drive."

"O, we do not drive much. We walk to the shore often, and sometimes tothe river."

"You like the large water so much the best?"

"I think I like it best," said Lois, laughing a little; "but we go forclams."

"Can you get them yourself?"

"Certainly! It is great fun. While you go to drive in the Park, we goto dig clams. And I think we have the best of it too, for a stand-by."

"Do tell me about the clams."

"Do you like them?"

"I suppose I do. I do not know them. What are they? the usual littlesoup fish?"

"I don't know about soup fish. O no! not those; they are not the sortMrs. Wishart has sometimes. These are long; ours in the Sound, I mean; longish and blackish; and do not taste like the clams you have here."

"Better, I hope?"

"A great deal better. There is nothing much pleasanter than a dish oflong clams that you have dug yourself. At least we think so."

"Because you have got them yourself!"

"No; but I suppose that helps."

"So you get them by digging?"

"Yes. It is funny work. The clams are at the edge of the water, wherethe rushes grow, in the mud. We go for them when the tide is out. Then,in the blue mud you see quantities of small holes as big as a leadpencil would make; those are the clam holes."

"And what then?"

"Then we dig for them; dig with a hoe; and you must dig very fast, orthe clam will get away from you. Then, if you get pretty near him hespits at you."

"I suppose that is a harmless remonstrance."

"It may come in your face."

Mr. Dillwyn laughed a little, looking at this fair creature, who wastalking to him, and finding it hard to imagine her among the rushesracing with a long clam.

"It is wet ground I suppose, where you find the clams?"

"O yes. One must take off shoes and stockings and go barefoot. But themud is warm, and it is pleasant enough."

"The clams must be good, to reward the trouble?"

"We think it is as pleasant to get them as to eat them."

"I believe you remarked, this sport is your substitute for our Central

Park?"

"Yes, it is a sort of a substitute."

"And, in the comparison, you think you are the gainers?"

"You cannot compare the two things," said Lois; "only that both areways of seeking pleasure."

"So you say; and I wanted your comparative estimate of the two ways."

"Central Park is new to me, you know," said Lois; "and I am very fondof riding, —driving, Mrs. Wishart says I ought to call it; the sceneis like fairyland to me. But I do not think it is better fun, really, than going after clams. And the people do not seem to enjoy it aquarter as much."

"The people whom you see driving?"

"Yes. They do not look as if they were taking much pleasure. Most ofthem."

"Pray why should they go, if they do not find pleasure in it?"

Lois looked at her questioner.

"You can tell, better than I, Mr. Dillwyn. For the same reasons, Isuppose, that they do other things."

"Pardon me, – what things do you mean?"

"I mean, all the things they do for pleasure, or that are supposed tobe for pleasure. Parties – luncheon parties, and dinners, and – " Loishesitated.

"Supposed to be for pleasure!" Philip echoed the words. "Excuseme – but what makes you think they do not gain their end?"

"People do not look really happy," said Lois. "They do not seem to meas if they really enjoyed what they were doing."

"You are a nice observer!"

"Am I?"

"Pray, at – I forget the name – your home in the country, are the peoplemore happily constituted?"

"Not that I know of. Not more happily constituted; but I think theylive more natural lives."

"Instance!" said Philip, looking curious.

"Well," said Lois, laughing and colouring, "I do not think they dothings unless they want to. They do not ask people unless they want tosee them; and when they do make a party, everybody has a good time.It is not brilliant, or splendid, or wonderful, like parties here; butyet I think it is more really what it is meant to be."

"And here you think things are not what they are meant to be?"

"Perhaps I am mistaken," said Lois modestly. "I have seen so little."

"You are not mistaken in your general view. It would be a mistake tothink there are no exceptions."

"O, I do not think that."

"But it is matter of astonishment to me, how you have so soon acquiredsuch keen discernment. Is it that you do not enjoy these occasionsyourself?"

"O, I enjoy them intensely," said Lois, smiling. "Sometimes I think Iam the only one of the company that does; but I enjoy them."

"By the power of what secret talisman?"

"I don't know; – being happy, I suppose," said Lois shyly.

"You are speaking seriously; and therefore you are touching thegreatest question of human life. Can you say of yourself that you aretruly happy?"

Lois met his eyes in a little wonderment at this questioning, andanswered a plain "yes."

"But, to be happy, with me, means, to be independent ofcircumstances. I do not call him happy, whose happiness is gone ifthe east wind blow, or a party miscarry, or a bank break; even thoughit were the bank in which his property is involved."

"Nor do I," said Lois gravely.

"And – pray forgive me for asking! – but, are you happy in this exclusivesense?"

"I have no property in a bank," said Lois, smiling again; "I have notbeen tried that way; but I suppose it may do as well to have noproperty anywhere. Yes, Mr. Dillwyn."

"But that is equal to having the philosopher's stone!" cried Dillwyn.

"What is the philosopher's stone?"

"The wise men of old time made themselves very busy in the search forsome substance, or composition, which would turn other substances togold. Looking upon gold as the source and sum of all felicity, theyspent endless pains and countless time upon the search for thistransmuting substance. They thought, if they could get gold enough, they would be happy. Sometimes some one of them fancied he was justupon the point of making the immortal discovery; but there he alwaysbroke down."

"They were looking in the wrong place," said Lois thoughtfully.

"Is there a right place to look then?"

Lois smiled. It was a smile that struck Philip very much, for its calmand confident sweetness; yes, more than that; for its gladness. She wasnot in haste to answer; apparently she felt some difficulty.

"I do not think gold ever made anybody happy," she said at length.

"That is what moralists tell us. But, after all, Miss Lothrop, money isthe means to everything else in this world."

"Not to happiness, is it?"

"Well, what is, then? They say – and perhaps you will say – thatfriendships and affections can do more; but I assure you, where thereare not the means to stave off grinding toil or crushing poverty, affections wither; or if they do not quite wither, they bear no goldenfruit of happiness. On the contrary, they offer vulnerable spots to thestings of pain."

"Money can do a great deal," said Lois.

"What can do more?"

Lois lifted up her eyes and looked at her questioner inquiringly. Didhe know no better than that?

"With money, one can do everything," he went on, though struck by herexpression.

"Yes," said Lois; "and yet – all that never satisfied anybody."

"Satisfied!" cried Philip. "Satisfied is a very large word. Who issatisfied?"

Lois glanced up again, mutely.

"If I dared venture to say so – you look, Miss Lothrop, you absolutelylook, as if you were; and yet it is impossible."

"Why is it impossible?"

"Because it is what all the generations of men have been trying for, ever since the world began; and none of them ever found it."

"Not if they looked for it in their money bags," said Lois. "It wasnever found there."

"Was it ever found anywhere?"

"Why, yes!"

"Pray tell me where, that I may have it too!"

The girl's cheeks flushed; and what was very odd to Philip, her eyes,he was sure, had grown moist; but the lids fell over them, and he couldnot see as well as he wished. What a lovely face it was, he thought, inthis its mood of stirred gravity!