Then he gave her another message from his niece, Susie Everett, and told her several items of Halsey news; and then some one came to interrupt their talk; and then the evening went on as all such evenings do, until the guests rose to go away. And Fidelia was saying to herself, while she listened to Nellie's remarks on things in general, that Eunice and Dr Justin were good friends again, and she was not sure whether she was glad or sorry that it should be so.

CHAPTER SIX.

DISCONTENT.

In looking back on it afterwards, and in talking it all over with her sister, Fidelia could hardly decide whether she had had more pain or pleasure in the week which followed. It was a time she did not like to think about. There had been no real cause for pain, she acknowledged.

She had acknowledged as much as that at the time, and she had known that she ought to be ashamed of herself.

That she--Fidelia Marsh--should have a single uncomfortable moment over a faded dress, or the appearance of a last summer's bonnet, was humiliating--she who had never cared about her clothes! She had never thought much about her clothes in any way. Eunice had always done that for her, as she had done other things. At home she had thought herself as well dressed as her neighbours. At the seminary there had been no time to think about dress; and there had been other faded alpacas there as well as hers. Why should she think about her clothes now? She was ashamed of herself. But it was not clothes altogether. She did not "fit in" among these people. They were different from her--or, rather, she was different from them.

Everybody was pleasant and kind. Miss Avery even, whom she liked least, was especially friendly--she seemed to seek her out always. She sat with her on the lawn in the morning, and in the evenings brought a stool and sat at her feet, while they listened to Miss Kent's music. They walked and talked together; and why should she not like Miss Avery, who seemed to like her and to wish to be with her? Why should she shrink from her questions about Eunice and their home life, and their friendship with the Everetts, and answer them briefly, and go over all that had been spoken between them in her own thoughts afterwards, in fear of having said something that she ought not to have said?

She liked Miss Kent, though she was a grave and silent person who did not seem to have much to say to any one. They had their love of music in common, and Fidelia was grateful for Miss Kent's quietly given hints on that subject, and profited by them. She was at her ease with her, but she was not at ease with Miss Avery.

"And why not?" asked Nellie Austin, to whom she one day made the admission. "I'm sure she seems to think everything that is good about you. To-night, when you were sitting together, before the lamps were brought in, Mrs Kent said what friends you seemed to be; and Dr Justin said what a picture you made, sitting there in the fire-light."

"Yes, I guess so! The picture of a hen and a humming-bird!" said Fidelia, laughing. "If he saw anything but Miss Avery and a feather duster it is a wonder. I have no doubt Miss Avery realised how pretty the picture was, as well as he. No, I am not cross nor sarcastic either, and I am willing to act as a set-off to her now and then, if it is to do her any good. But I can't just say I like quite so much of that kind of thing."

"Fidelia," said Nellie gravely, "we shall have to let you go fishing again with the boys."

"Yes, let us go. Is it too late to make a plan for to-morrow? We should have to make an early start."

"It is too late to plan for to-morrow. Amos has gone to bed. And, besides, we couldn't go to-morrow; we are going to Colonel Green's. And the day after to-morrow we are all going to the Summit; and those who like can go by the way of Smellie's Brook, and go to the Summit by the other path."

"Well, I will go with the boys, and you had better come with us. That was the most delightful day I have had in Eastwood--the day I had with Amos and his brothers at the brook."

"Thank you, for myself and all the rest. Faithful, what is the matter with you these days?" said Nellie, laying her hand gently on her friend's hair, "There is something the matter, is there not, dear?"

"There must be, if you say so; but I can't tell you what it is. I must be 'gettin' kind o' nervous,' as Deacon Ainsworth says of his wife.

It's queer, isn't it? I, who never knew there were nerves, until I learned it out of a school-book! I guess I want Eunice. She'll set me all right. I never had any bad feelings yet that she couldn't deliver me from, in one way or another. Oh, yes; I shall be all right as soon as I see my Eunice!"

But she was not quite sure of it, even when she said it.

The next day, instead of going with the rest to pay a visit to friends in a neighbouring town, Fidelia chose to stay at home and help cousin Abby with her preparations for the expedition to the Summit, as the highest hill in the neighbourhood was called, and had a better time than if she had gone with the rest. She enjoyed helping Miss Abby, and she enjoyed her talk while the work went on. For Miss Abby Chase saw clearly--had all her life seen clearly--many things which eyes intent only on personal interests might easily have overlooked. Her talk did not flow on in "a straight stream," so as to become wearisome; but now and then a remark was made, or a word of advice given, or a bit of personal experience told, of which Fidelia made a note, saying to herself: "I must remember to tell Eunice that. How Eunice would like to hear cousin Abby talk!"

They had not, for various reasons, been ready to begin "in the cool of the morning," as was Miss Abby's custom when there was anything special to do. The day was warm, and, though the work was pleasant work, it was hard work too in a way. But no feeling of weariness could interfere with the satisfaction with which they viewed results. The success was complete.

"They will spoil a good housekeeper if they make a schoolmistress of you!"--as Fidelia stood folding her ap.r.o.n, and regarding with admiring eyes a big chicken-pie which Mattie had just brought in from the oven.

"But I don't suppose you'd care about spending your life as a housekeeper, when you might have higher work to do."

"Higher work? Yes, I suppose so. Teaching is either the highest work, or it is drudgery. I suppose it depends upon the teacher," said Fidelia gravely. "But any sort of work is good if it is needed, and if it is well done--as we have done our work to-day," added she, smiling.

"Yes; and it is something to do well the humblest work, when others are helped by it to do the highest. And then the Lord doesn't always see 'high' and 'low' just as we do. And those who just help other folks'

works, and come into other folks' lives, without having much of a life of their very own, may have a good time too--yes, and a good reward."

"Yes," said Fidelia, thinking of her sister. "Miss Abby, don't you go visiting sometimes? Won't you come to our house and see my sister? She would like to have you, and I am sure you would like each other."

"I should be pleased to visit you and your sister. Yes, I should like her. I like what I have heard about her. I saw her once--she visited here a long time ago."

"Did she? I don't think I ever knew it. Was she a little girl? Was it with our father that she came?"

"No; she was a grown woman--a sweet and beautiful young woman. She stayed two or three days. There was company in the house, and I remember they all went one day to the Summit. It was with Dr Justin Everett that she came."

"Ah!" said Fidelia, sitting suddenly down on the window-seat.

They had come into Miss Abby's room by this time, and the old lady was resting in the rocking-chair while Fidelia lingered, going on with their talk.

"It was just about the time when her grandmother grew worse. No, I didn't see much of her; I had more to do in those days. I saw her, but we did not speak together, and I have nothing special to tell you about her, dear, only that I saw her when she came. I have often thought of her since."

Fidelia sat still, with her chin on her hand and her eyes fixed on the far-away hills; and Miss Abby could not but see the change that had pa.s.sed over her face. But she did not speak.

The old trouble about Eunice was stirring at her heart. Eunice had always helped others; she had only come in for "a part in other folks'

lives," as Miss Abby had said. Had Eunice "had a good time and a good reward?" She had been at least content during the last few years. Was she content still? Was she grieving over the past, or was she wishing for that which could never be hers?--"for that which is really not worth having or grieving for, if she only knew it!" thought Fidelia, with an angry flush rising to her cheeks, as the thought of Miss Avery, and the interest which Dr Justin seemed to take in her, came to her mind.

"She doesn't care. I don't think she would care; but, oh, I wish I were quite sure! Surely the Lord would never let that trouble come into her life again, after all she has done and suffered."

She sat long with her eyes fixed on the hills beyond the river, on which the glory of the sunset lay; and when at last she turned to meet the grave looks of Miss Abby, she started and grew red, with a feeling that the old lady must know her thoughts. But Miss Abby only said,--

"Think of it! I had forgotten all about the eggs. I must go down again." And when she had gone out and shut the door, she opened it again to say,--"You had better stay right here in my room, hadn't you, and rest? There will be some noise in the other part of the house when they all get home. I may go over to see Sally Hanson a minute; I have something to take to her. But I guess you had better stay here."

Whether she went to see Sally Hanson or not, she stayed away a good while, and it was growing dark when she returned. Fidelia still sat with her cheek on her hand, and her eyes on the hills, hardly seen now in the gathering gloom.

"Well, dear, are you rested? You have been having a quiet time, haven't you?"

"Oh, yes! I was not tired--only lazy. I suppose I ought to go and brush my hair and change my dress before they all come home. I wonder if I need go down at all? They will be tired enough not to wish to see any one."

"Well, yes, I'd go down a spell, if I were you, for the sake of being friendly."

"Do you suppose I should be missed?" said Fidelia, with a laugh which did not sound so pleasantly to the old lady as Fidelia's laugh usually did.

"You don't feel very well to-night, do you, dear? I guess you are over-tired, though you don't know it. Or is there anything else the matter with you, Miss Fidelia?"

"If there is I don't know, or at least I can't talk about it."

She rose and approached Miss Abby as she spoke, conscious that her words might sound strange; but turned to the window again, and stood looking out into the gloom, and there was silence for a time. Then Miss Abby said gently,--

"But you know just where to carry your trouble, dear. Whatever it may be, it isn't beyond help, is it? How can it be to a Christian?"

Fidelia made no answer to this.

"Have you been living up to your privileges over there in the seminary, dear? I have always heard that it was a good place in which to grow in knowledge and in grace. You haven't been so much taken up with your books as to neglect better things, have you? Fidelia, are you a Christian?"

There was a moment's silence before Fidelia answered.

"I once thought I was a Christian. Now I do not know--I am not sure."

"And so you got kind of down and discouraged, and no wonder, dear."