Volume I Part 4 (2/2)
”You have no right to complain, Sir,” said Mr. Carleton, with a meaning glance and smile, which the old gentleman took in excellent good part.
”Well,” said he, looking half proudly, half tenderly, upon the little demure figure at his side, ”I don't say that I have. I hope I thank G.o.d for his mercies, and am happy. But in this world, Mr. Carleton, there is hardly a blessing but what draws a care after it. Well ? well ? these things will all be arranged for us!”
It was plain, however, even to a stranger, that there was some subject of care, not vague nor undefined pressing upon Mr.
Ringgan's mind as he said this.
”Have you heard from my mother lately, Fleda?” said her cousin.
”Why, yes,” said Mr. Ringgan, ? ”she had a letter from her only to-day. You ha'n't read it yet, have you, Fleda?”
”No, grandpa,” said the little girl; ”you know I've been busy.”
”Ay,” said the old gentleman; ”why couldn't you let Cynthia bake the cakes, and not roast yourself over the stove till you're as red as a turkey-c.o.c.k?”
”This morning I was like a chicken,” said Fleda, laughing, ”and now like a turkey-c.o.c.k.”
”Shall I tell mamma, Fleda,” said young Rossitur, ”that you put off reading her letter to bake m.u.f.fins?”
Fleda answered without looking up, ”Yes, if he pleased.”
”What do you suppose she will think?”
”I don't know.”
”She will think that you love m.u.f.fins better than her.”
”No,” said Fleda, quietly, but firmly, ? ”she will not think that, because it isn't true.”
The gentlemen laughed, but Mr. Carleton declared that Fleda's reasoning was unanswerable.
”Well, I will see you to-morrow,” said Mr. Rossitur, ”after you have read the letter, for I suppose you will read it some time. You should have had it before, ? it came enclosed to me, ? but I forgot unaccountably to mail it to you till a few days ago.”
”It will be just as good now, Sir,” said Mr. Ringgan.
”There is a matter in it, though,” said Rossitur, ”about which my mother has given me a charge. We will see you to-morrow. It was for that partly we turned out of our way this evening.”
”I am very glad you did,” said Mr. Ringgan. ”I hope your way will bring you here often. Wont you stay and try some of these same m.u.f.fins before you go?”
But this was declined, and the gentlemen departed; Fleda, it must be confessed, seeing nothing in the whole leave-taking but Mr. Carleton's look and smile. The m.u.f.fins were a very tame affair after it.
When supper was over, she sat down fairly to her letter, and read it twice through before she folded it up. By this time the room was clear both of the tea equipage and of Cynthia's presence, and Fleda and her grandfather were alone in the darkening twilight with the blazing wood fire; he in his usual place at the side, and she on the hearth directly before it; both silent, both thinking, for some time. At length Mr.
Ringgan spoke, breaking as it were the silence and his seriousness with the same effort.
”Well, dear!” said he, cheerfully, ? ”what does she say?”
”O, she says a great many things, grandpa; shall I read you the letter?”
”No, dear, I don't care to hear it; only tell me what she says.”
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