Volume I Part 84 (1/2)
”Who were you driving with that day?” said Hugh.
”Mr. Thorn.”
”Did you see much of him?”
”Quite as much as I wished. Hugh, I took your advice.”
”About what?” said Hugh.
”I carried down some of my scribblings, and sent them to a magazine.”
”Did you!” said Hugh, looking delighted. ”And will they publish them?”
”I don't know,” said Fleda; ”that's another matter. I sent them, or uncle Orrin did, when I first went down; and I have heard nothing of them yet.”
”You showed them to uncle Orrin?”
”Couldn't help it, you know. I had to.”
”And what did he say to them?”
”Come! ? I'm not going to be cross-questioned,” said Fleda, laughing. ”He did not prevent my sending them.”
”And if they take them, do you expect they will give anything for them ? the magazine people?”
”I am sure, if they don't, they shall have no more; that is my only possible inducement to let them be printed. For my own pleasure, I would far rather not.”
”Did you sign with your own name?”
”My own name! ? Yes, and desired it to be printed in large capitals. What are you thinking of? No! ? I hope you'll forgive me, ? but I signed myself what our friend the doctor calls 'Yugh.' ”
”I'll forgive you, if you'll do one thing for me.”
”What?”
”Show me all you have in your portfolio ? Do, Fleda! ? to- night, by the light of the pitch-pine knots. Why shouldn't you give me that pleasure? And, besides, you know Moliere had an old woman?”
”Well,” said Fleda, with a face that to Hugh was extremely satisfactory, ”we'll see ? I suppose you might as well read my productions in ma.n.u.script as in print. But they are in a terribly scratchy condition ? they go sometimes for weeks in my head before I find time to put them down ? you may guess, polis.h.i.+ng is pretty well out of the question. Suppose we try to get home with these baskets.”
Which they did.
”Has Philetus got home?” was Fleda's first question.
”No,” said Mrs. Rossitur, ”but Dr. Quackenboss has been here, and brought the paper; he was at the post-office this morning, he says. Did you see Mr. Olmney?”
”Yes, Ma'am, and I feel he has saved me from a lame arm ?
those pine-knots are so heavy.”
”He is a lovely young man!” said Mrs. Rossitur, with uncommon emphasis.
”I should have been blind to the fact, aunt Lucy, if you had not made me change my shoes. At present, no disparagement to him, I feel as if a cup of tea would be rather more lovely than anything else.”