Volume I Part 49 (2/2)
CHAPTER XVIII.
”_Gon_. Here is everything advantageous to life.
_Ant_. True; save means to live.”
TEMPEST.
Fleda's fatigue did not prevent her being up before sunrise the next day. Fatigue was forgotten, for the light of a fair spring morning was s.h.i.+ning in at her windows, and she meant to see aunt Miriam before breakfast. She ran out to find Hugh, and her merry shout reached him before she did, and brought him to meet her.
”Come, Hugh! I'm going off up to aunt Miriam's, and I want you. Come! Isn't this delicious?”
”Hus.h.!.+” said Hugh. ” Father's just here in the barn. I can't go, Fleda.”
Fleda's countenance clouded.
”Can't go! what's the matter? can't you go, Hugh?”
He shook his head, and went off into the barn.
A chill came upon Fleda. She turned away with a very sober step. What if her uncle was in the barn, why should she hush?
He never had been a check upon her merriment ? never; what was coming now? Hugh, too, looked disturbed. It was a spring morning no longer. Fleda forgot the glittering wet gra.s.s that had set her own eyes a-sparkling but a minute ago; she walked along, cogitating, swinging her bonnet by the strings in thoughtful vibration, till, by the help of sunlight and sweet air, and the loved scenes, her spirits again made head and swept over the sudden hindrance they had met. There were the blessed old sugar maples, seven in number, that fringed the side of the road ? how well Fleda knew them! Only skeletons now, but she remembered how beautiful they looked after the October frosts; and presently they would be putting out their new green leaves, and be beautiful in another way. How different in their free-born luxuriance from the dusty and city-prisoned elms and willows she had left! She came to the bridge then, and stopped with a thrill of pleasure and pain to look and listen. Unchanged! ? all but herself. The mill was not going; the little brook went by quietly chattering to itself, just as it had done the last time she saw it, when she rode past on Mr. Carleton's horse. Four and a half years ago!
And now how strange that she had come to live there again.
Drawing a long breath, and swinging her bonnet again, Fleda softly went on up the hill, past the saw-mill, the ponds, the factories, the houses of the settlement. The same, and not the same! Bright with the morning sun, and yet, somehow, a little browner and homelier than of old they used to be. Fleda did not care for that ? she would hardly acknowledge it to herself ? her affection never made any discount for infirmity. Leaving the little settlement behind her thoughts as behind her back, she ran on now towards aunt Miriam's, breathlessly, till field after field was pa.s.sed, and her eye caught a bit of the smooth lake, and the old farm-house in its old place. Very brown it looked, but Fleda dashed on, through the garden, and in at the front door.
n.o.body at all was in the entrance-room, the common sitting- room of the family. With trembling delight, Fleda opened the well-known door, and stole noiselessly through the little pa.s.sage-way to the kitchen. The door of that was only on the latch, and a gentle movement of it gave to Fleda's eye the tall figure of aunt Miriam, just before her, stooping down to look in at the open mouth of the oven, which she was at that moment engaged in supplying with more work to do. It was a huge one, and, beyond her aunt's head, Fleda could see in the far end the great loaves of bread, half baked, and more near a perfect squad of pies and pans of gingerbread just going in to take the benefit of the oven's milder mood. Fleda saw all this, as it were, without seeing it; she stood still as a mouse and breathless, till her aunt turned, and then ? a spring and a half shout of joy, and she had clasped her in her arms, and was crying with her whole heart. Aunt Miriam was taken all aback ? she could do nothing but sit down and cry too, and forgot her oven-door.”
”Aint breakfast ready yet, mother?” said a manly voice coming in. ”I must be off to see after them ploughs. Hollo ? why, mother!”
The first exclamation was uttered as the speaker put the door to the oven's mouth; the second as he turned in quest of the hand that should have done it. He stood wondering, while his mother and Fleda, between laughing and crying, tried to rouse themselves and look up.
”What is all this?”
”Don't you see, Seth?”
”I see somebody that had like to have spoiled your whole baking ? I don't know who it is yet.”
”Don't you now, cousin Seth?” said Fleda, shaking away her tears and getting up.
”I ha'n't quite lost my recollection. Cousin, you must give me a kiss. How do you do! You ha'n't forgot how to colour, I see, for all you've been so long among the pale city folks.”
”I hav'n't forgotten anything, cousin Seth,” said Fleda, blus.h.i.+ng indeed, but laughing and shaking his hand with as hearty good-will.
”I don't believe you have ? anything that is good,” said he.
”Where have you been all this while?”
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