"But they have seen me before; and, besides, I'm n.o.body."

Fidelia laughed.

"Well, I don't feel as if I was anybody in particular. No, dear, I'm not cross. I am going to be as entertaining as possible, and do you credit. And, besides, there's the dinner-bell. It is too late now to think of changing anything."

A pleasant surprise awaited her, and she found it easy not to be cross.

Not only Dr Justin was there, but Dr Everett himself, returning home with his brother from the first brief holiday they had enjoyed together for many a year. She came into the dining-room with him, and sat beside him, and feared no stranger of them all.

"Tell me about my Eunice," she said softly, as the talk flowed on around them.

"Eunice is all right. I am not sure that I shall be justified in saying the same to her about you. Are you well, child?"

"As well as well can be. Yes, I got thin and pale; but so did a good many others. It is a way they have over there, towards the end of the year. I came here to freshen myself up a little before showing myself to Eunice. When are you going home, Dr Everett?"

"I am going to-morrow. No, you cannot go with me. I am going round by W--, and shall not see home for two days yet."

"Oh, dear, I am sorry--that I can't go with you, I mean! It would be a good excuse to get away--to go with you. I promised to stay ten days, but I am getting homesick."

"You had better keep your promise. Your sister has company just now, and does not need you."

"Yes, I know; but that is one reason why I should be at home. Eunice must have too much to do."

"No, she has not. It is Ruby Stone who is doing now. Don't worry about Eunice. She is in good hands. Mrs Stone loved your sister before you were born; Eunice is all right."

There was nothing more to be said, but Fidelia was by no means sure that she would not shorten her visit; and her next thought was that she need not see much of the visitors while she stayed. But she did see a good deal of them.

That night it rained. There could be no wandering under the elms by moonlight. It grew dark early, and chilly, and a fire of dry wood was made in the sitting-room, partly for the warmth and partly for brightness. The elder people gathered round it, and a great deal of pleasant talk went on among them.

The visitors--besides the two doctors--were Mr and Mrs Abner Kent, their daughter Ella, and their niece Miss Avery. They were from Boston, and belonged to one of the "first families" of that chief city. They were rich--so rich that, like the king and preacher, they might have possessed themselves of "whatsoever their eyes desired." They had done something in that direction, their neighbours were inclined to think, for they had travelled much on both sides of the sea, and had brought home many of the rare and beautiful things which only much money can buy. Miss Kent was tall and dark, with a good face; Miss Avery was beautiful--small and fair, with shining curls, and pretty, coaxing ways; but Fidelia liked Miss Kent's face best.

By-and-by several friends of the Austins came--the Rev Mr Porson and his daughters, whom Fidelia had seen before, and others whom she had not seen. From the corner where she sat in the shadow she watched them all with great interest. She was listening to the talk that was going on between Dr Everett and the minister, but she lost nothing of all that was pa.s.sing before her eyes, and all the time she was having her own thoughts about these people.

They were not just like Halsey folks, among whom she and Eunice had pa.s.sed all their lives. It had been said of the town of Halsey that there were more good people in it, in proportion to its population, than in any other town in the county--perhaps even in the state; and Fidelia was of course bound to believe it. But though the Halsey people might be very good, they lacked something, Fidelia acknowledged, which these people had.

She thought of her friends at home, and tried to imagine one and another of them--Deacon Ainsworth and his wife, and Miss Green and her uncle the squire, sitting in the midst of these people. Eunice, with her plain dress and her plain ways, would have small chance of being understood or appreciated among them.

But Fidelia pulled herself up mentally when she had got thus far.

Eunice, indeed! In all that was worth knowing or being, which of these ladies could compare with Eunice?

And yet it must make a difference to live such a life as most of these people lived--a life without hard work or pressing care, with time to enjoy reading, and study, and travel, with a chance to enjoy the sight of all that is grand and beautiful in nature and art. Even Eunice, good, and sweet, and superior to most people as she was--even Eunice would have been a little different in such a life.

Standing at the other end of the living room, smiling down upon Miss Avery, who had touched his arm to attract his attention, stood Dr Justin Everett. Miss Avery had a request to make, it seemed, and when he shook his head, seeming to refuse it, she clasped her pretty hands, and urged it eagerly. Whether her request was ultimately to be granted or not, did not appear. In the meantime they seated themselves in the window-seat, a little withdrawn from the rest, evidently content.

Fidelia could not withdraw her attention from them. She watched them with a feeling in which was both anger and pain rising in her heart.

"Eunice," she thought--"would Eunice care?" and she hated herself for thinking it, and put up her hands to hide the angry colour that she felt rising to her cheeks.

"Miss Faithful," said a voice near her, "cousin Abby says you want to go fishing with us to-morrow. Do you?"

"Yes, indeed I do," said Fidelia, rising and turning to the boy who had spoken.

"You have got a new name, my dear," said Dr Everett, who had been watching her face unseen--"a new name and a good one."

Fidelia nodded.

"Amos wants to see you, if you do," said the boy. "He is in cousin Abby's room. Can you catch fish?"

"I have done so, but I cannot boast of much skill," said Fidelia. "I would like to try. Let us go and see Amos."

So they went together to cousin Abby's room. It did not take long to make all necessary arrangements. The chief thing was, that an early start should be made, and also that a good lunch should be put up.

Fidelia laughed at the idea of her being too tired to follow the brook-- to its source even, if that should be necessary; and she quite won the hearts of the three boys by her delight at the prospect of the day's pleasure.

"Nellie ought to go," said Amos. "She would like to go, I'm sure, but she can't leave her company. They might go too, I suppose; but I guess city girls wouldn't care about fishing."

"I think it will be better for us to go by ourselves to-morrow," said Fidelia. "It doesn't do for too many people to go fishing together."

"And girls especially. They will talk," said Amos.

Fidelia laughed. "I won't talk. You'll see how quiet I can be."

CHAPTER FIVE.

A DAY'S FISHING.

An early start to Smellie's Brook was accomplished, and in circ.u.mstances even more favourable than had been antic.i.p.ated. Dr Everett had risen early and breakfasted with the fishing party, and he volunteered to drive as many as could "pile in" to the double buggy to the nearest point on Smellie's Hill that could be reached on wheels. The elder boys were inclined to refuse the offer; but the doctor said,--

"The fields are wet with dew, and the lunch-basket is heavy; and you must consider that you have a lady with you."

"Well, I guess we'd better go in the buggy a part of the way," said Amos, the leader, after awhile.

The dewy fields would not have been agreeable to walk in, but they were beautiful to see, and so were the woods, into which after awhile the narrow road took them. The boys' eyes were quick to see and their ears to hear, and the sights and sounds of the early morning were not lost upon them. Fidelia was silent, but her spirits rose as she listened to the talk between the doctor and the boys; and she laughed as merrily as any of them before they reached Smellie's Hill.

"If you don't feel as if you were going to have a good time, Fidelia, you can drive back again with me, and let the boys go on alone," said Dr Everett, as he stopped at the steepest part of the hill to let the boys alight.

"Go back with you! No, indeed! I _am_ going to have a good time. I feel better already."

"You look better. I am glad you came. And look here, little girl, don't you worry about Eunice. Don't you know that nothing in the world can hurt Eunice? If there is any room for anxiety between you, it is Eunice who might worry about you. But she doesn't, and need not, I hope. At any rate all is well with Eunice."

A shadow fell on Fidelia's face, and her eyes drooped beneath the doctor's glance.

"Yes; she tells me she is pretty well now, but--"

The colour which the morning air had brought to her cheeks deepened as she looked up and met the doctor's eye, but she said no more, nor did he. They had by this time reached Smellie's Hill, and the doctor was going no further.

"If I had had time to think about things, I believe I should have taken the day and gone with you to the brook," said he, as the boys were taking basket and rods from the buggy.

"Oh, couldn't you possibly come?" said Fidelia eagerly; and the boys joined their entreaties to hers. It was not to be thought of, however, for he "was due elsewhere." They watched him as he drove down the hill, and he would have smiled if he had heard all that was said of him before they took up their baskets and rods again.

Then they turned and took the path through Smellie's pasture that leads to the woods and the rocky ledge beyond; and when they came within sound of the murmur of the brook, they hastened their steps.