Volume Ii Part 35 (1/2)
”I expect that an immediate depopulation of New York will commence,” said Constance, ”and go on till the heights about Queechy are all thickly settled with elegant country seats, which is the conventional term for a species of mouse-trap.”
”Hush, you baggage,” said her father. ”Fleda, I wish you could spare her a little of your common sense, to go through the world with.”
”Papa thinks, you see, my dear, that you have _more than enough_, which is not, perhaps, precisely the compliment he intended.”
”I take the full benefit of his and yours,” said Fleda, smiling.
After dinner, she had just time to run down to the library to bid Dr. Gregory good-bye ? her last walk in the city. It wasn't a walk she enjoyed much.
”Going to-morrow!” said he. ”Why, I am going to Boston in a week, you had better stay, and go with me.”
”I can't now, uncle Orrin, I am dislodged, and you know there is nothing to do then but to go.”
”Come and stay with me till next week.”
But Fleda said it was best not, and went home to finish her preparations.
She had no chance till late, for several gentlemen spent he evening with them. Mr. Carleton was there part of the time, but he was one of the first to go; and Fleda could not find an opportunity to say that she should not see him again. Her timidity would not allow her to make one. But it grieved her.
At last she escaped to her own room, where most of her packing was still to do. By the time half the floor and all the bed was strewn with neat-looking piles of things ? the varieties of her modest wardrobe ? Florence and Constance came in to see and talk with her, and sat down on the floor too; partly, perhaps, because the chairs were all bespoken in the service of boxes and baskets, and partly to follow what seemed to be the prevailing style of things.
”What do you suppose has become of Mr. Thorn?” said Constance.
”I have a presentiment that you will find him cracking nuts sociably with Mr. Rossitur, or drinking one of aunt Lucy's excellent cups of coffee, in comfortable expectation of your return.”
”If I thought that, I should stay here,” said Fleda. ”My dear, those were my cups of coffee.”
”I wish I could make you think it, then,” said Constance.
”But you are glad to go home, aren't you, Fleda?” said Florence.
”She isn't,” said her sister. ”She knows Mamma contemplates making a grand entertainment of all the Jews, as soon as she is gone. What _does_ mamma mean by that, Fleda? I observe you comprehend her with most invariable quickness.”
”I should be puzzled to explain all that your mother means,”
said Fleda, gently, as she went on bestowing her things in the trunk. ”No, I am not particularly glad to go home, but I fancy it is time. I am afraid I have grown too accustomed to your luxury of life, and want knocking about to harden me a little.”
”Harden you!” said Constance. ”My dear Fleda, you are under a delusion. Why should any one go through an indurating process?
Will you inform me?”
”I don't say that every one should,” said Fleda; ”but isn't it well for those whose lot does not lie among soft things?”
There was extreme sweetness, and a touching insinuation in her manner, and both the young ladies were silent for some time thereafter, watching somewhat wistfully the gentle hands and face that were so quietly busy, till the room was cleared again, and looked remarkably empty, with Fleda's trunk standing in the middle of it. And then, reminding them that she wanted some sleep to fit her for the hardening process, and must therefore send them away, she was left alone.
One thing Fleda had put off till then ? the care of her bunch of flowers. They were beautiful still. They had given her a very great deal of pleasure; and she was determined they should be left to no servant's hands to be flung into the street. If it had been summer, she was sure she could have got buds from them; as it was, perhaps she might strike some cuttings; at all events, they should go home with her. So, carefully taking them out of the water, and wrapping the ends in some fresh earth she had got that very afternoon from her uncle's garden, Fleda bestowed them in the corner of her trunk that she had left for them, and went to bed, feeling weary in body, and in mind to the last degree quiet.
In the same mind and mood she reached Queechy the next afternoon. It was a little before January ? just the same time that she had come home last year. As then, it was a bright day, and the country was again covered thick with the unspotted snow; but Fleda forgot to think how bright and fresh it was. Somehow she did not feel this time quite so glad to find herself there. It had never occurred to her so strongly before, that Queechy could want anything.
This feeling flew away before the first glimpse of her aunt's smile, and, for half an hour after, Fleda would have certified that Queechy wanted nothing. At the end of that time came in Mr. Rossitur. His greeting of Charlton was sufficiently unmarked; but eye and lip wakened when he turned to Fleda.
”My dear child,” he said, holding her face in both his hands, ”how lovely you have grown!”