Nobody

"Everything! The house, and the place, and the furniture – I have beenliving in such a different world till my eyes have grown unaccustomed.You can't think how odd it is."

"What sort of a world have you been living in, Lois? Your lettersdidn't tell." The old lady spoke with a certain serious doubtfulness, looking at the girl by her side.

"Didn't they?" Lois returned. "I suppose I did not give you theimpression because I had it not myself. I had got accustomed to that, you see; and I did not realize how strange it was. I just took it as ifI had always lived in it."

"What?"

"O grandma, I can never tell you so that you can understand! It waslike living in the Arabian Nights."

"I don't believe in no Arabian Nights."

"And yet they were there, you see. Houses so beautiful, and filled withsuch beautiful things; and you know, grandmother, I like things to bepretty; – and then, the ease, I suppose. Mrs. Wishart's servants goabout almost like fairies; they are hardly seen or heard, but the workis done. And you never have to think about it; you go out, and comehome to find dinner ready, and capital dinners too; and you sit readingor talking, and do not know how time goes till it is tea-time, and thenthere comes the tea; and so it is in-doors and out of doors. All thatis quite pleasant."

"And you are sorry to be home again?"

"No, indeed, I am glad. I enjoyed all I have been telling you about, but I think I enjoyed it quite long enough. It is time for me to behere. Is the frost well out of the ground yet?"

"Mr. Bince has been ploughin'."

"Has he? I'm glad. Then I'll put in some peas to-morrow. O yes! I amglad to be home, grandma." Her hand nestled in one of those worn, bonyones affectionately.

"Could you live just right there, Lois?"

"I tried, grandma."

"Did all that help you?"

"I don't know that it hindered. It might not be good for always; but Iwas there only for a little while, and I just took the pleasure of it."

"Seems to me, you was there a pretty long spell to be called 'a littlewhile.' Ain't it a dangerous kind o' pleasure, Lois? Didn't you neverget tempted?"

"Tempted to what, grandma?"

"I don' know! To want to live easy."

"Would that be wrong?" said Lois, putting her soft cheek alongside thewithered one, so that her wavy hair brushed it caressingly. Perhaps itwas unconscious bribery. But Mrs. Armadale was never bribed.

"It wouldn't be right, Lois, if it made you want to get out o' yourduties."

"I think it didn't, grandma. I'm all ready for them. And your dinner isthe first thing. Madge and Charity – you say they are gone to New Haven?"

"Charity's tooth tormented her so, and Madge wanted to get a bonnet; and they thought they'd make one job of it. They didn't know you wascomin' to-day, and they thought they'd just hit it to go before youcome. They won't be back early, nother."

"What have they left for your dinner?" said Lois, going to rummage.

"Grandma, here's nothing at all!"

"An egg'll do, dear. They didn't calkilate for you."

"An egg will do for me," said Lois, laughing; "but there's only a crustof bread."

"Madge calkilated to make tea biscuits after she come home."

"Then I'll do that now."

Lois stripped up the sleeves from her shapely arms, and presently wasvery busy at the great kitchen table, with the board before her coveredwith white cakes, and the cutter and rolling pin still at workproducing more. Then the fire was made up, and the tin baker set infront of the blaze, charged with a panful for baking. Lois strippeddown her sleeves and set the table, cut ham and fried it, fried eggs, and soon sat opposite Mrs. Armadale pouring her out a cup of tea.

"This is cosy!" she exclaimed. "It is nice to have you all alone forthe first, grandma. What's the news?"

"Ain't no news, child. Mrs. Saddler's been to New London for a week."

"And I have come home. Is that all?"

"I don't make no count o' news, child. 'One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh; but the earth abideth for ever.'"

"But one likes to hear of the things that change, grandma."

"Do 'ee? I like to hear of the things that remain."

"But grandma! the earth itself changes; at least it is as different indifferent places as anything can be."

"Some's cold, and some's hot," observed the old lady.

"It is much more than that. The trees are different, and the fruits aredifferent; and the animals; and the country is different, and thebuildings, and the people's dresses."

"The men and women is the same," said the old lady contentedly.

"But no, not even that, grandma. They are as different as they can be, and still be men and women."

"'As in water face answereth to face, so the heart of man to man.' Bethe New York folks so queer, then, Lois?"

"O no, not the New York people; though they are different too; quitedifferent from Shampuashuh – "

"How?"

Lois did not want to say. Her grandmother, she thought, could notunderstand her; and if she could understand, she thought she would beperhaps hurt. She turned the conversation. Then came the clearing awaythe remains of dinner; washing the dishes; baking the rest of thetea-cakes; cleansing and putting away the baker; preparing flour fornext day's bread-making; making her own bed and putting her room inorder; doing work in the dairy which Madge was not at home to take careof; brushing up the kitchen, putting on the kettle, setting the tablefor tea. Altogether Lois had a busy two or three hours, before shecould put on her afternoon dress and come and sit down by hergrandmother.

"It is a change!" she said, smiling. "Such a different life from what Ihave been living. You can't think, grandma, what a contrast betweenthis afternoon and last Friday."

"What was then?"

"I was sitting in Mrs. Wishart's drawing-room, doing nothing but playwork, and a gentleman talking to me."

"Why was he talking to you? Warn't Mrs. Wishart there?"

"No; she was out."

"What did he talk to you for?"