Queechy Volume I Part 70

"I do not measure a man by his inches," said Fleda.

"Then you have no particular predilection for shooting-men?"

"I have no predilection for shooting anything, Sir?"

"Then I am safe!" said he, with an arrogant little air of satisfaction. "I was born under an indolent star, but I confess to you, privately, of the two I would rather gather my harvests with the sickle than the sword. How does your uncle find it?"

"Find what, Sir?"

"The worship of Ceres? ? I remember he used to be devoted to Apollo and the Muses."

"Are they rival deities?"

"Why ? I have been rather of the opinion that they were too many for one house to hold," said Thorn, glancing at Mr.

Rossitur. "But perhaps the Graces manage to reconcile them."

"Did you ever hear of the Graces getting supper?" said Fleda.

"Because Ceres sometimes sets them at that work. Uncle Rolf,"

she added as she pa.s.sed him ? "Mr. Thorn is inquiring after Apollo ? will you set him right, while I do the same for the tablecloth?"

Her uncle looked from her sparkling eyes to the rather puzzled expression of his guest's face.

"I was only asking your lovely niece," said Mr. Thorn, coming down from his stilts, "how you liked this country life."

Dr. Quackenboss bowed, probably in approbation of the epithet.

"Well, Sir, what information did she give you on the subject?"

"Left me in the dark, Sir, with a vague hope that you would enlighten me."

"I trust Mr. Rossitur can give a favourable report?" said the doctor, benignly.

But Mr. Rossitur's frowning brow looked very little like it.

"What do you say to our country life, Sir?"

"It's a confounded life, Sir," said Mr. Rossitur, taking a pamphlet from the table to fold and twist as he spoke; "it is a confounded life; for the head and the hands must either live separate, or the head must do no other work but wait upon the hands. It is an alternative of loss and waste, Sir."

"The alternative seems to be of ? a ? limited application,"

said the doctor, as Fleda, having found that Hugh and Barby had been beforehand with her, now came back to the company. "I am sure this lady would not give such a testimony."

"About what?" said Fleda, colouring under the fire of so many eyes.

"The blighting influence of Ceres' sceptre," said Mr. Thorn.

"This country life," said her uncle ? "do you like it, Fleda?"

"You know, uncle," said she, cheerfully, "I was always of the old Dougla.s.s's mind ? I like better to hear the lark sing than the mouse squeak."

"Is that one of Earl Dougla.s.s's sayings," said the doctor.

"Yes, Sir," said Fleda with quivering lips, "but not the one you know ? an older man."

"Ah!" said the doctor, intelligently, "Mr. Rossitur ? speaking of hands ? I have employed the Irish very much of late years ?

they are as good as one can have, if you do not want a head."

"That is to say ? if you have a head," said Thorn.

"Exactly!" said the doctor, all abroad ? "and when there are not too many of them together. I had enough of that, Sir, some years ago, when a mult.i.tude of them were employed on the public works. The Irish were in a state of mutilation, Sir, all through the country."

"Ah!" said Thorn, "had the military been at work upon them?"

"No, Sir, but I wish they had, I am sure; it would have been for the peace of the town. There were hundreds of them. We were in want of an army."

"Of surgeons, I should think," said Thorn.

Fleda saw the doctor's dubious air and her uncle's compressed lips; and, commanding herself, with even a look of something like displeasure, she quitted her seat by Mr. Thorn, and called the doctor to the window to look at a cl.u.s.ter of rose acacias just then in their glory. He admired, and she expatiated, till she hoped everybody but herself had forgotten what they had been talking about. But they had no sooner returned to their seats than Thorn began again.

"The Irish in your town are not in the same mutilated state now, I suppose, Sir?"

"No, Sir, no," said the doctor: "there are much fewer of them to break each other's bones. It was all among themselves, Sir."

"The country is full of foreigners," said Mr. Rossitur, with praiseworthy gravity.

"Yes, Sir," said Dr. Quackenboss, thoughtfully, "we shall have none of our ancestors left in a short time, if they go on as they are doing."

Fleda was beaten from the field, and, rushing into the breakfast-room, astonished Hugh by seizing hold of him and indulging in a most prolonged and unbounded laugh. She did not show herself again till the company came in to supper; but then she was found as grave as Minerva. She devoted herself particularly to the care and entertainment of Dr. Quackenboss till he took leave; nor could Thorn get another chance to talk to her through all the evening.

When he and Rossitur were at last in their rooms, Fleda told her story.

"You don't know how pleasant it was, aunt Lucy ? how much I enjoyed it ? seeing and talking to somebody again. Mrs. Evelyn was so very kind."

"I a very glad, my darling," said Mrs. Rossitur, stroking away the hair from the forehead that was bent down towards her ? "I am glad you had it to-day, and I am glad you will have it again to-morrow."

"You will have it too, aunt Lucy. Mrs. Evelyn will be here in the morning ? she said so."

"I shall not see her."

"Why? Now, aunt Lucy! ? you will."

"I have nothing in the world to see her in ? I cannot."

"You have this?"

"For the morning? A rich French silk? ? It would be absurd.

No, no ? it would be better to wear my old merino than that."

"But you will have to dress in the morning for Mr. Thorn? ? he will be here to breakfast."