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CHAPTER X
LOIS'S GARDEN

Lois went at her gardening the next morning, as good as her word. Itwas the last of March, and an anticipation of April, according to thefashion the months have of sending promissory notes in advance of them; and this year the spring was early. The sun was up, but not much more, when Lois, with her spade and rake and garden line, opened the littledoor in the garden fence and shut it after her. Then she was alone withthe spring. The garden was quite a roomy place, and pretty, a littlelater in the season; for some old and large apple and cherry treesshadowed parts of it, and broke up the stiff, bare regularity of anordinary square bit of ground laid out in lesser squares. Suchregularity was impossible here. In one place, two or three great appletrees in a group formed a canopy over a wide circuit of turf. The hoeand the spade must stand back respectfully; there was nothing to bedone. One corner was quite given up to the occupancy of an old cherrytree, and its spread of grassy ground beneath and about it was againconsiderable. Still other trees stood here and there; and the stems ofnone of them were approached by cultivation. In the spaces between,Lois stretched her line and drew her furrows, and her rows of peas andpatches of corn had even so room enough.

Grass was hardly green yet, and tree branches were bare, and theupturned earth was implanted. There was nothing here yet but the Springwith Lois. It is wonderful what a way Spring has of revealing herself, even while she is hid behind the brown and grey wrappings she hasborrowed from Winter. Her face is hardly seen; her form is notdiscernible; but there is a breath and a smile and a kiss, that arelike nothing her brothers and sisters have to give. Of them all,Spring's smile brings most of hope and expectation with it. And thereis a perfume Spring wears, which is the rarest, and most untraceable, and most unmistakeable, of all. The breath and the perfume, and thesmile and the kiss, greeted Lois as she went into the old garden. Sheknew them well of old time, and welcomed them now. She even stood stilla bit to take in the rare beauty and joy of them. And yet, the appletrees were bare, and the cherry trees; the turf was dead and withered; the brown ploughed-up soil had no relief of green growths. Only Springwas there with Lois, and yet that seemed enough; Spring andassociations. How many hours of pleasant labour in that enclosed bit ofground there had been; how many lapfuls and basketfuls of fruits therich reward of the labour; how Lois had enjoyed both! And now, here wasspring again, and the implanted garden. Lois wanted no more.

She took her stand under one of the bare old apple trees, and surveyedher ground, like a young general. She had it all mapped out, and knewjust where things were last year. The patch of potatoes was in thatcorner, and a fine yield they had been. Corn had been here; yes, andhere she would run her lines of early peas. Lois went to work. It wasnot very easy work, as you would know if you had ever tried to reduceground that has been merely ploughed and harrowed, to the smoothevenness necessary for making shallow drills. Lois plied spade and rakewith an earnest good-will, and thorough knowledge of her business. Donot imagine an untidy long skirt sweeping the soft soil andtransferring large portions of it to the gardener's ankles; Lois wasdressed for her work in a short stuff frock and leggins; and looked asnice when she came out as when she went in, albeit not in any costumeever seen in Fifth Avenue or Central Park. But what do I say? If shelooked "nice" when she went out to her garden, she looked superb whenshe came in, or when she had been an hour or so delving. Her hat fallenback a little; her rich masses of hair just a little loosened, enoughto show their luxuriance; the colour flushed into her cheeks with theexercise, and her eyes all alive with spirit and zeal – ah, the fairones in Fifth or any other avenue would give a great deal to look so; but that sort of thing goes with the short frock and leggins, and willnot be conjured up by a mantua-maker. Lois had after a while a strip ofher garden ground nicely levelled and raked smooth; and then her linewas stretched over it, and her drills drawn, and the peas were plantedand were covered; and a little stick at each end marked how far theplanted rows extended.

Lois gathered up her tools then, to go in, but instead of going in shesat down on one of the wooden seats that were fixed under the greatapple trees. She was tired and satisfied; and in that mood of mind andbody one is easily tempted to musing. Aimlessly, carelessly, thoughtsroved and carried her she knew not whither. She began to drawcontrasts. Her home life, the sweets of which she was just tasting, setoff her life at Mrs. Wishart's with its strange difference of flavour; hardly the brown earth of her garden was more different from thebrilliant – coloured Smyrna carpets upon which her feet had moved insome people's houses. Life there and life here, – how diverse from oneanother! Could both be life? Suddenly it occurred to Lois that hergarden fence shut in a very small world, and a world in which there wasno room for many things that had seemed to her delightful and desirablein these weeks that were just passed. Life must be narrow within theseborders. She had had several times in New York a sort of perception ofthis, and here it grew defined. Knowledge, education, the intercourseof polished society, the smooth ease and refinement of well-orderedhouseholds, and the habits of affluence, and the gratification ofcultivated tastes; more yet, the having cultivated tastes; thegratification of them seemed to Lois a less matter. A large horizon, awide experience of men and things; was it not better, did it not makelife richer, did it not elevate the human creature to something of morepower and worth, than a very narrow and confined sphere, with itsconsequent narrow and confined way of looking at things? Lois was justtired enough to let all these thoughts pass over her, like gentle wavesof an incoming tide, and they were emphazised here and there by avision of a brown curly head, and a kindly, handsome, human facelooking into hers. It was a vision that came and went, floated in anddisappeared among the waves of thought that rose and fell. Was it notbetter to sit and talk even with Mr. Dillwyn, than to dig and plantpeas? Was not the Lois who did that, a quite superior creature to theLois who did this? Any common, coarse man could plant peas, and do itas well as she; was this to be her work, this and the like, for therest of her life? Just the labour for material existence, instead ofthe refining and forming and up-building of the nobler, inner nature, the elevation of existence itself? My little garden ground! thoughtLois; is this indeed all? And what would Mr. Caruthers think, if hecould see me now? Think he had been cheated, and that I am not what hethought I was. It is no matter what he thinks; I shall never see himagain; it will not be best that I should ever pay Mrs. Wishart a visitagain, even if she should ask me; not in New York. I suppose the Islesof Shoals would be safe enough. There would be nobody there. Well – Ilike gardening. And it is great fun to gather the peas when they arelarge enough; and it is fun to pick strawberries; and it is fun to doeverything, generally. I like it all. But if I could, if I had achance, which I cannot have, I would like, and enjoy, the other sort ofthing too. I could be a good deal more than I am, if I had theopportunity.

Lois was getting rested by this time, and she gathered up her toolsagain, with the thought that breakfast would taste good. I suppose awhiff of the fumes of coffee preparing in the house was borne out toher upon the air, and suggested the idea. And as she went in shecheerfully reflected that their plain house was full of comfort, if notof beauty; and that she and her sisters were doing what was given themto do, and therefore what they were meant to do; and then came thethought, so sweet to the servant who loves his Master, that it is all for the Master; and that if he is pleased, all is gained, the utmost, that life can do or desire. And Lois went in, trilling low a sweetMethodist hymn, to an air both plaintive and joyous, which somehow – asmany of the old Methodist tunes do – expressed the plaintiveness and thejoyousness together with a kind of triumphant effect.

 
"O tell me no more of this world's vain store!
The time for such trifles with me now is o'er."
 

Lois had a voice exceedingly sweet and rich; an uncommon contralto; andwhen she sang one of these hymns, it came with its fall power. Mrs.Armadale heard her, and murmured a "Praise the Lord!" And Charity, getting the breakfast, heard her; and made a different comment.

"Were you meaning, now, what you were singing when you came in?" sheasked at breakfast.

"What I was singing?" Lois repeated in astonishment.

"Yes, what you were singing. You sang it loud enough and plain enough;ha' you forgotten? Did you mean it?"

"One should always mean what one sings," said Lois gravely.

"So I think; and I want to know, did you mean that? 'The time for suchtrifles' – is it over with you, sure enough?"

"What trifles?"

"You know best. What did you mean? It begins about 'this world's vainstore;' ha' you done with the world?"

"Not exactly."

"Then I wouldn't say so."

"But I didn't say so," Lois returned, laughing now. "The hymn means, that 'this world's vain store' is not my treasure; and it isn't. 'Thetime for such trifles with me now is o'er.' I have found somethingbetter. As Paul says, 'When I became a man, I put away childishthings.' So, since I have learned to know something else, the world'sstore has lost its great value for me."

"Thank the Lord!" said Mrs. Armadale.

"You needn't say that, neither, grandma," Charity retorted. "I don'tbelieve it one bit, all such talk. It ain't nature, nor reasonable.Folks say that just when somethin's gone the wrong way, and they wantto comfort themselves with makin' believe they don't care about it.Wait till the chance comes, and see if they don't care! That's what Isay."

"I wish you wouldn't say it, then, Charity," remarked the oldgrandmother.

"Everybody has a right to his views," returned Miss Charity. "That'swhat I always say."

"You must leave her her views, grandma," said Lois pleasantly. "Shewill have to change them, some day."

"What will make me change them?"

"Coming to know the truth."

"You think nobody but you knows the truth. Now, Lois, I'll ask you.Ain't you sorry to be back and out of 'this world's vain store' – out ofall the magnificence, and back in your garden work again?"

"No."

"You enjoy digging in the dirt and wearin' that outlandish rig you puton for the garden?"

"I enjoy digging in the dirt very much. The dress I admire no more thanyou do."

"And you've got everythin' you want in the world?"

"Charity, Charity, that ain't fair," Madge put in. "Nobody has that; you haven't, and I haven't; why should Lois?"

"'Cos she says she's found 'a city where true joys abound;' now let'shear if she has."

"Quite true," said Lois, smiling.

"And you've got all you want?"

"No, I would like a good many things I haven't got, if it's the Lord'spleasure to give them."

"Suppose it ain't?"

"Then I do not want them," said Lois, looking up with so clear andbright a face that her carping sister was for the moment silenced. AndI suppose Charity watched; but she never could find reason to thinkthat Lois had not spoken the truth. Lois was the life of the house.Madge was a handsome and quiet girl; could follow but rarely led in theconversation. Charity talked, but was hardly enlivening to the spiritsof the company. Mrs. Armadale was in ordinary a silent woman; couldtalk indeed, and well, and much; however, these occasions were mostlywhen she had one auditor, and was in thorough sympathy with that one.Amidst these different elements of the household life Lois played thepart of the flux in a furnace; she was the happy accommodating mediumthrough which all the others came into best play and found their fullrelations to one another. Lois's brightness and spirit were neverdulled; her sympathies were never wearied; her intelligence was neverat fault. And her work was never neglected. Nobody had ever to remindLois that it was time for her to attend to this or that thing which itwas her charge to do. Instead of which, she was very often ready tohelp somebody else not quite so "forehanded." The garden took on fastits dressed and ordered look; the strawberries were uncovered; and theraspberries tied up, and the currant bushes trimmed; and pea-sticks andbean-poles bristled here and there promisingly. And then the greengrowths for which Lois had worked began to reward her labour. Radisheswere on the tea-table, and lettuce made the dinner "another thing;" androws of springing beets and carrots looked like plenty in the future.Potatoes were up, and rare-ripes were planted, and cabbages; and cornbegan to appear. One thing after another, till Lois got the garden allplanted; and then she was just as busy keeping it clean. For weeds, weall know, do thrive as unaccountably in the natural as in the spiritualworld. It cost Lois hard work to keep them under; but she did it.Nothing would have tempted her to bear the reproach of them among hervegetables and fruits. And so the latter had a good chance, and throve.There was not much time or much space for flowers; yet Lois had a few.Red poppies found growing room between the currant bushes; here andthere at a corner a dahlia got leave to stand and rear its statelyhead. Rose-bushes were set wherever a rose-bush could be; and therewere some balsams, and pinks, and balm, and larkspur, and marigolds.Not many; however, they served to refresh Lois's soul when she went topick vegetables for dinner, and they furnished nosegays for the tablein the hall, or in the sitting-room, when the hot weather drove thefamily out of the kitchen.

Before that came June and strawberries. Lois picked the fruit always.She had been a good while one very warm afternoon bending down amongthe strawberry beds, and had brought in a great bowl full of fruit. Sheand Madge came together to their room to wash hands and get in orderfor tea.

"I have worked over all that butter," said Madge, "and skimmed a lot ofmilk. I must churn again to-morrow. There is no end to work!"

"No end to it," Lois assented. "Did you see my strawberries?"

"No."

"They are splendid. Those Black Princes are doing finely too. If wehave rain they will be superb."

"How many did you get to-day?"

"Two quarts, and more."

"And cherries to preserve to-morrow. Lois, I get tired once in a while!"

"O, so do I; but I always get rested again."

"I don't mean that. I mean it is all work, work; day in and day out, and from one year's end to another. There is no let up to it. I gettired of that."

"What would you have?"

"I'd like a little play."

"Yes, but in a certain sense I think it is all play."

"In a nonsensical sense," said Madge. "How can work be play?"

"That's according to how you look at it," Lois returned cheerfully. "Ifyou take it as I think you can take it, it is much better than play."

"I wish you'd make me understand you," said Madge discontentedly. "Ifthere is any meaning to your words, that is."

Lois hesitated.

"I like work anyhow better than play," she said. "But then, if you lookat it in a certain way, it becomes much better than play. Don't youknow, Madge, I take it all, everything, as given me by the Lord todo; – to do for him; – and I do it so; and that makes every bit of it allpleasant."

"But you can't!" said Madge pettishly. She was not a pettish person, only just now something in her sister's words had the effect ofirritation.

"Can't what?"

"Do everything for the Lord. Making butter, for instance; or cherrysweetmeats. Ridiculous! And nonsense."

"I don't mean it for nonsense. It is the way I do my garden work and mysewing."

"What do you mean, Lois? The garden work is for our eating, and thesewing is for your own back, or grandma's. I understand religion, but Idon't understand cant."

"Madge, it's not cant; it's the plain truth."

"Only that it is impossible."

"No. You do not understand religion, or you would know how it is. Allthese things are things given us to do; we must make the clothes andpreserve the cherries, and I must weed strawberries, and then pickstrawberries, and all the rest. God has given me these things to do, and I do them for him."

"You do them for yourself, or for grandma, and for the rest of us."

"Yes, but first for Him. Yes, Madge, I do. I do every bit of all thesethings in the way that I think will please and honour him best – as faras I know how."

"Making your dresses!"

"Certainly. Making my dresses so that I may look, as near as I can, asa servant of Christ in my place ought to look. And taking things inthat way, Madge, you can't think how pleasant they are; nor how allsorts of little worries fall off. I wish you knew, Madge! If I am hotand tired in a strawberry bed, and the thought comes, whose servant Iam, and that he has made the sun shine and put me to work in it, – thenit's all right in a minute, and I don't mind any longer."

Madge looked at her, with eyes that were half scornful, half admiring.

"There is just one thing that does tempt me," Lois went on, her eyegoing forth to the world outside the window, or to a world more distantand in tangible, that she looked at without seeing, – "I do sometimeswish I had time to read and learn."

"Learn!" Madge echoed. "What?"

"Loads of things. I never thought about it much, till I went to NewYork last winter; then, seeing people and talking to people that weredifferent, made me feel how ignorant I was, and what a pleasant thingit would be to have knowledge – education – yes, and accomplishments. Ihave the temptation to wish for that sometimes; but I know it is atemptation; for if I was intended to have all those things, the waywould have been opened, and it is not, and never was. Just a breath oflonging comes over me now and then for that; not for play, but to makemore of myself; and then I remember that I am exactly where the Lordwants me to be, and as he chooses for me, and then I am quite contentagain."

"You never said so before," the other sister answered, nowsympathizingly.

"No," said Lois, smiling; "why should I? Only just now I thought Iwould confess."

"Lois, I have wished for that very thing!"

"Well, maybe it is good to have the wish. If ever a chance comes, weshall know we are meant to use it; and we won't be slow!"

CHAPTER XI
SUMMER MOVEMENTS

All things in the world, so far as the dwellers in Shampuashuh knew, went their usual course in peace for the next few months. Lois gatheredher strawberries, and Madge made her currant jelly. Peas ripened, andgreen corn was on the board, and potatoes blossomed, and young beetswere pulled, and peaches began to come. It was a calm, gentle life thelittle family lived; every day exceedingly like the day before, and yetevery day with something new in it. Small pieces of novelty, no doubt;a dish of tomatoes, or the first yellow raspberries, or a new patternfor a dress, or a new receipt for cake. Or they walked down to theshore and dug clams, some fine afternoon; or Mrs. Dashiell lent them anew book; or Mr. Dashiell preached an extraordinary sermon. It was avery slight ebb and flow of the tide of time; however, it served tokeep everything from stagnation. Then suddenly, at the end of July, came Mrs. Wishart's summons to Lois to join her on her way to the Islesof Shoals. "I shall go in about a week," the letter ran; "and I wantyou to meet me at the Shampuashuh station; for I shall go that way toBoston. I cannot stop, but I will have your place taken and all readyfor you. You must come, Lois, for I cannot do without you; and whenother people need you, you know, you never hesitate. Do not hesitatenow."

There was a good deal of hesitation, however, on one part and another, before the question was settled.

"Lois has just got home," said Charity. "I don't see what she should begoing again for. I should like to know if Mrs. Wishart thinks she ain'twanted at home!"

"People don't think about it," said Madge; "only what they wantthemselves. But it is a fine chance for Lois."

"Why don't she ask you?" said Charity.

"She thought Madge would enjoy a visit to her in New York more," said

Lois. "So she said to me."

"And so I would," cried Madge. "I don't care for a parcel of littleislands out at sea. But that would just suit Lois. What sort of a placeis the Isles of Shoals anyhow?"

"Just that," said Lois; "so far as I know. A parcel of little islands, out in the sea."

"Where at?" said Charity.

"I don't know exactly."

"Get the map and look."

"They are too small to be down on the map."

"What is Eliza Wishart wantin' to go there for?" asked Mrs. Armadale.

"O, she goes somewhere every year, grandma; to one place and another; and I suppose she likes novelty."

"That's a poor way to live," said the old lady. "But I suppose, bein'such a place, it'll be sort o' lonesome, and she wants you for company.May be she goes for her health."

"I think quite a good many people go there, grandma."

"There can't, if they're little islands out at sea. Most folks wouldn'tlike that. Do you want to go, Lois?"

"I would like it, very much. I just want to see what they are like, grandmother. I never did see the sea yet."

"You saw it yesterday, when we went for clams," said Charity scornfully.

"That? O no. That's not the sea, Charity."

"Well, it's mighty near it."

It seemed to be agreed at last that Lois should accept her cousin'sinvitation; and she made her preparations. She made them with greatdelight. Pleasant as the home-life was, it was quite favourable to thegrowth of an appetite for change and variety; and the appetite in Loiswas healthy and strong. The sea and the islands, and, on the otherhand, an intermission of gardening and fruit-picking; Shampuashuhpeople lost sight of for a time, and new, new, strange forms ofhumanity and ways of human life; the prospect was happy. And a happygirl was Lois, when one evening in the early part of August she joinedMrs. Wishart in the night train to Boston. That lady met her at thedoor of the drawing-room car, and led her to the little compartmentwhere they were screened off from the rest of the world.

"I am so glad to have you!" was her salutation. "Dear me, how well youlook, child! What have you been doing to yourself?"

"Getting brown in the sun, picking berries."

"You are not brown a bit. You are as fair as – whatever shall I compareyou to? Roses are common."

"Nothing better than roses, though," said Lois.

"Well, a rose you must be; but of the freshest and sweetest. We don'thave such roses in New York. Fact, we do not. I never see anything sofresh there. I wonder why?"

"People don't live out-of-doors picking berries," suggested Lois.

"What has berry-picking to do with it? My dear, it is a pity we shallhave none of your old admirers at the Isles of Shoals; but I cannotpromise you one. You see, it is off the track. The Caruthers are goingto Saratoga; they stayed in town after the mother and son got back fromFlorida. The Bentons are gone to Europe. Mr. Dillwyn, by the way, washe one of your admirers, Lois?"

"Certainly not," said Lois, laughing. "But I have a pleasantremembrance of him, he gave us such a good lunch one day. I am veryglad I am not going to see anybody I ever saw before. Where are theIsles of Shoals? and what are they, that you should go to see them?"

"I'm not going to see them – there's nothing to see, unless you like seaand rocks. I am going for the air, and because I must go somewhere, andI am tired of everywhere else. O, they're out in the Atlantic – sea allround them – queer, barren places. I am so glad I've got you, Lois! Idon't know a soul that's to be there – can't guess what we shall find; but I've got you, and I can get along."

"Do people go there just for health?"

"O, a few, perhaps; but the thing is what I am after – novelty; they arehardly the fashion yet."

"That is the very oddest reason for doing or not doing things!" saidLois. "Because it's the fashion! As if that made it pleasant, oruseful."

"It does!" said Mrs. Wishart. "Of course it does. Pleasant, yes, anduseful too. My dear, you don't want to be out of the fashion?"

"Why not, if the fashion does not agree with me?"

"O my dear, you will learn. Not to agree with the fashion, is to be outwith the world."

"With one part of it," said Lois merrily.

"Just the part that is of importance. Never mind, you will learn. Lois,I am so sleepy, I can not keep up any longer. I must curl down and takea nap. I just kept myself awake till we reached Shampuashuh. You hadbetter do as I do. My dear, I am very sorry, but I can't help it."

So Mrs. Wishart settled herself upon a heap of bags and wraps, took offher bonnet, and went to sleep. Lois did not feel in the least likefollowing her example. She was wide-awake with excitement andexpectation, and needed no help of entertainment from anybody. With herthoroughly sound mind and body and healthy appetites, every detail andevery foot of the journey was a pleasure to her; even the corner of adrawing-room car on a night train. It was such change and variety! andLois had spent all her life nearly in one narrow sphere and theself-same daily course of life and experience. New York had been onegreat break in this uniformity, and now came another. Islands in thesea! Lois tried to fancy what they would be like. So much resorted toalready, they must be very charming; and green meadows, shadowingtrees, soft shores and cosy nooks rose up before her imagination. Mr.Caruthers and his family were at Saratoga, that was well; but therewould be other people, different from the Shampuashuh type; and Loisdelighted in seeing new varieties of humankind as well as new portionsof the earth where they live. She sat wide-awake opposite to hersleeping hostess, and made an entertainment for herself out of theplace and the night journey. It was a starlit, sultry night; the worldoutside the hurrying train covered with a wonderful misty veil, underwhich it lay half revealed by the heavenly illumination; soft, mysterious, vast; a breath now and then whispering of nature'sluxuriant abundance and sweetness that lay all around, out there underthe stars, for miles and hundreds of miles. Lois looked and peered outsometimes, so happy that it was not Shampuashuh, and that she was away, and that she would see the sun shine on new landscapes when the morningcame round; and sometimes she looked within the car, and marvelled atthe different signs and tokens of human life and character that met herthere. And every yard of the way was a delight to her.

Meanwhile, how weirdly and strangely do the threads of human life crossand twine and untwine in this world!

That same evening, in New York, in the Caruthers mansion inTwenty-Third Street, the drawing-room windows were open to let in therefreshing breeze from the sea. The light lace curtains swayed to andfro as the wind came and went, but were not drawn; for Mrs. Caruthersliked, she said, to have so much of a screen between her and thepassers-by. For that matter, the windows were high enough above thestreet to prevent all danger of any one's looking in. The lights wereburning low in the rooms, on account of the heat; and within, inattitudes of exhaustion and helplessness sat mother and daughter intheir several easy-chairs. Tom was on his back on the floor, which, being nicely matted, was not the worst place. A welcome break to themonotony of the evening was the entrance of Philip Dillwyn. Tom got upfrom the floor to welcome him, and went back then to his formerposition.

"How come you to be here at this time of year?" Dillwyn asked. "It wasmere accident my finding you. Should never have thought of looking foryou. But by chance passing, I saw that windows were open and lightsvisible, so I concluded that something else might be visible if I camein."

"We are only just passing through," Julia explained. "Going to Saratogato-morrow. We have only just come from Newport."

"What drove you away from Newport? This is the time to be by the sea."

"O, who cares for the sea! or anything else? it's the people; and thepeople at Newport didn't suit mother. The Benthams were there, and thatset; and mother don't like the Benthams; and Miss Zagumski, thedaughter of the Russian minister, was there, and all the world wascrazy about her. Nothing was to be seen or heard but Miss Zagumski, andher dancing, and her playing, and her singing. Mother got tired of it."

"And yet Newport is a large place," remarked Philip.

"Too large," Mrs. Caruthers answered.

"What do you expect to find at Saratoga?"

"Heat," said Mrs. Caruthers; "and another crowd."

"I think you will not be disappointed, if this weather holds."

"It is a great deal more comfortable here!" sighed the elder lady."Saratoga's a dreadfully hot place! Home is a great deal morecomfortable."

"Then why not stay at home? Comfort is what you are after."

"O, but one can't! Everybody goes somewhere; and one must do aseverybody does."

"Why?"

"Philip, what makes you ask such a question?"

"I assure you, a very honest ignorance of the answer to it."

"Why, one must do as everybody does?"

"Yes."

The lady's tone and accent had implied that the answer wasself-evident; yet it was not given.

"Really," – Philip went on. "What should hinder you from staying in thispleasant house part of the summer, or all of the summer, if you findyourselves more comfortable here?"

"Being comfortable isn't the only thing," said Julia.

"No. What other consideration governs the decision? that is what I amasking."

"Why, Philip, there is nobody in town."

"That is better than company you do not like."

"I wish it was the fashion to stay in town," said Mrs. Caruthers."There is everything here, in one's own house, to make the heatendurable, and just what we miss when we go to a hotel. Large rooms, and cool nights, and clean servants, and gas, and baths – hotel roomsare so stuffy."