Volume Ii Part 89 (1/2)
”Well, you aint agoing to forget Queechy?” she said, shaking Fleda's hand with a hearty grasp.
”Never ? never!”
”I'll tell you what I think,” said Mrs. Dougla.s.s, the tears in her eyes answering those in Fleda's; ”it 'll be a happy house that gets you into it, wherever 't is! I only wish it wa'n't out o' Queechy.”
Fleda thought on the whole, as she walked home, that she did not wish any such thing. Queechy seemed dismantled, and she thought she would rather go to a new place now that she had taken such a leave of everything here.
Two things remained, however, to be taken leave of ? the house and Barby. Happily Fleda had little time for the former. It was a busy evening, and the morning would be more busy; she contrived that all the family should go to rest before her, meaning then to have one quiet look at the old rooms by herself ? a leave-taking that no other eyes should interfere with. She sat down before the kitchen fire-place, but she had hardly realized that she was alone when one of the many doors opened, and Barby's tall figure walked in.
”Here you be,” she half whispered. ”I knowed there wouldn't be a minute's peace to-morrow; so I thought I'd bid you good-bye to-night.”
Fleda gave her a smile and a hand, but did not speak. Barby drew up a chair beside her, and they sat silent for some time, while quiet tears from the eyes of each said a great many things.
”Well, I hope you'll be as happy as you deserve to be,” ? were Barby's first words, in a voice very altered from its accustomed firm and spirited accent.
”Make some better wish for me than that, dear Barby.”
”I wouldn't want any better for myself,” said Barby, determinately.
”I would for you,” said Fleda.
She thought of Mr. Carleton's words again, and went on in spite of herself.
”It is a mistake, Barby. The best of us do not deserve anything good; and if we have the sight of a friend's face, or the very sweet air we breathe, it is because Christ has bought it for us. Don't let us forget that, and forget him.”
”I do, always,” said Barby, crying, ”forget everything. Fleda, I wish you'd pray for me when you are far away, for I aint as good as you be.”
”Dear Barby,” said Fleda, touching her shoulder affectionately, ”I haven't waited to be far away to do that.”
Barby sobbed for a few minutes, with the strength of a strong nature that rarely gave way in that manner; and then dashed her tears right and left, not at all as if she were ashamed of them, but with a resolution not to be overcome.
”There won't be nothing good left in Queechy, when you're gone, you and Mis' Plumfield ? without I go and look at the place where Hugh lies ?”
”Dear Barby,” said Fleda, with softening eyes, ”won't you be something good yourself?”
Barby put up her hand to s.h.i.+eld her face. Fleda was silent, for she saw that strong feeling was at work.
”I wish't I could,” Barby broke forth at last, ”if it was only for your sake.”
”Dear Barby,” said Fleda, ”you can do this for me ? you can go to church, and hear what Mr. Olmney says. I should go away happier if I thought you would, and if I thought you would follow what he says; for, dear Barby, there is a time coming when you will wish you were a Christian more then you do now, and not for my sake.”
”I believe there is, Fleda.”
”Then, will you? Won't you give me so much pleasure?”
”I'd do a'most anything to do you a pleasure.”
”Then do it, Barby.”
”Well, I'll go,” said Barby. ”But now just think of that, Fleda ? how you might have stayed in Queechy all your days, and done what you liked with everybody. I'm glad you aint, though; I guess you'll be better off.”
Fleda was silent upon that.