Nobody

"Not at all, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois frankly; "I remember you verywell. Tea will be ready in a minute – would you like to see your roomfirst?"

"You are too kind, to receive me!"

"It is a pleasure. You are Mrs. Barclay's friend, and she is at homehere; I will get a light."

Which she did, and Mr. Dillwyn, seeing he could not find his own way, was obliged to accept her services and see her trip up the stairsbefore him. At the door she handed him the light and ran down again.There was a fire here too – a wood fire; blazing hospitably, andthrowing its cheery light upon a wide, pleasant, country room, not likewhat Mr. Dillwyn was accustomed to, but it seemed the more hospitable.Nothing handsome there; no articles of luxury (beside the fire); thereflection of the blaze came back from dark old-fashioned chairs andchests of drawers, dark chintz hangings to windows and bed, whitecounterpane and napery, with a sonsy, sober, quiet air of comfort; andthe air was fresh and sweet as air should be, and as air can only be ata distance from the smoke of many chimneys and the congregatedhabitations of many human beings. I do not think Mr. Dillwyn spent muchattention upon these details; yet he felt himself in a sound, clear, healthy atmosphere, socially as well as physically; also had aperception that it was very far removed from that in which he had livedand breathed hitherto. How simply that girl had lighted him up thestairs, and given him his brass candlestick at the door of his room!What à plomb could have been more perfect! I do not mean to implythat Mr. Dillwyn knew the candlestick was brass; I am afraid there wasa glamour over his eyes which made it seem golden.

He found Mrs. Barclay seated in a very thoughtful attitude before herfire, when he came down again; but just then the door of the other roomwas opened, and they were called in to tea.

The family were in rather gala trim. Lois, as I said, wore indeed onlya dark print dress, with her white fichu over it; but Charity had puton her best silk, and Madge had stuck two golden chrysanthemums in herdark hair (with excellent effect), and Mrs. Armadale was stately in herbest cap. Alas! Philip Dillwyn did not know what any of them had on. Hewas placed next to Mrs. Armadale, and all supper time his specialattention, so far as appeared, was given to the old lady. He talked toher, and he served her, with an easy, pleasant grace, and without atall putting himself forward or taking the part of the distinguishedstranger. It was simply good will and good breeding; however, itproduced a great effect.

"The air up here is delicious!" he remarked, after he had attended toall the old lady's immediate wants, and applied himself to his ownsupper. "It gives one a tremendous appetite."

"I allays like to see folks eat," said Mrs. Armadale. "After one's donethe gettin' things ready, I hate to have it all for nothin'."

"It shall not be for nothing this time, as far as I am concerned."

"Ain't the air good in New York?" Mrs. Armadale next asked.

"I do not think it ever was so sweet as this. But when you crowd amillion or so of people into room that is only enough for a thousand, you can guess what the consequences must be."

"What do they crowd up so for, then?"

"It must be the case in a great city."

"I don't see the sense o' that," said Mrs. Armadale. "Ain't the worldbig enough?"

"Far too big," said Mr. Dillwyn. "You see, when people's time is veryvaluable, they cannot afford to spend too much of it in running aboutafter each other."

"What makes their time worth any more'n our'n?"

"They are making money so fast with it."

"And is that what makes folks' time valeyable?"

"In their opinion, madam."

"I never could see no use in havin' much money," said the old lady.

"But there comes a question," said Dillwyn. "What is 'much'?"

"More'n enough, I should say."

"Enough for what? That also must be settled."

"I'm an old-fashioned woman," said the old lady, "and I go by theold-fashionedst book in the world. That says, 'we brought nothing intothis world, and we can carry nothing out; therefore, having food andraiment, let us be therewith content.'"

"But, again, what sort of food, and what sort of raiment?" urged thegentleman pleasantly. "For instance; would you be content to exchangethis delicious manufacture, – which seems to me rather like ambrosiathan common food, – for some of the black bread of Norway? with noqualification of golden butter? or for Scotch oatmeal bannocks? or forsour corn cake?"

"I would be quite content, if it was the Lord's will," said the oldlady. "There's no obligation upon anybody to have it sour."

Mr. Dillwyn laughed gently. "I can fancy," he said, "that you neverwould allow such a dereliction in duty. But, beside having the breadsweet, is it not allowed us to have the best we can get?"

"The best we can make," answered Mrs. Armadale; "I believe ineverybody doin' the best he kin with what he has got to work with; butfood ain't worth so much that we should pay a large price for it."

The gentleman's eye glanced with a scarcely perceptible movement overthe table at which he was sitting. Bread, indeed, in piles of whiteflakiness; and butter; but besides, there was the cold ham in delicateslices, and excellent-looking cheese, and apples in a sort of beautifulgolden confection, and cake of superb colour and texture; a pitcher ofmilk that was rosy sweet, and coffee rich with cream. The glance thattook all this in was slight and swift, and yet the old lady was quickenough to see and understand it.

"Yes," she said, "it's all our'n, all there is on the table. Our coweats our own grass, and Madge, my daughter, makes the butter and thecheese. We've raised and cured our own pork; and the wheat that makesthe bread is grown on our ground too; we farm it out on shares; and itis ground at a mill about four miles off. Our hens lay our eggs; it'sall from home."

"But suppose the case of people who have no ground, nor hens, nor pork, nor cow? they must buy."

"Of course," said the old lady; "everybody ain't farmers."

"I am ready to wish I was one," said Dillwyn. "But even then, Iconfess, I should want coffee and tea and sugar – as I see you. do."

"Well, those things don't grow in America," said Mrs. Armadale.

"And spice don't, neither, mother," observed Charity.

"So it appears that even you send abroad for luxuries," Mr. Dillwynwent on. "And why not? And the question is, where shall we stop? If Iwant coffee, I must have money to buy it, and the better the coffee themore money; and the same with tea. In cities we must buy all we use orconsume, unless one is a butcher or a baker. May I not try to get moremoney, in order that I may have better things? We have got round to ourstarting-point."

"'They that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare,'" Mrs.

Armadale said quietly.

"Then where is the line? – Miss Lois, you are smiling. Is it at mystupidity?"

"No," said Lois. "I was thinking of a lunch – such as I have seen it – inone of the great New York hotels."

"Well?" said he, without betraying on his own part any recollection;"how does that come in? By way of illustrating Mrs. Armadale, or me?"

"I seem to remember a number of things that illustrate both," saidLois; "but as I profited by them at the time, it would be ungrateful inme to instance them now."

"You profited by them with pleasure, or otherwise?"

"Not otherwise. I was very hungry."

"You evade my question, however."

"I will not. I profited by them with much pleasure."

"Then you are on my side, as far as I can be said to have a side?"

"I think not. The pleasure is undoubted; but I do not know that thattouches the question of expediency."

"I think it does. I think it settles the question. Mrs. Armadale, yourgranddaughter confesses the pleasure; and what else do we live for, butto get the most good out of life?"

"What pleasure does she confess?" asked the old lady, with moreeagerness than her words hitherto had manifested.