Towards evening, one day late in the summer, the sun was shining, asits manner is, on that marvellous combination of domes, arches, mosaicsand carvings which goes by the name of St. Mark's at Venice. The softItalian sky, glowing and rich, gave a very benediction of colour; allaround was the still peace of the lagoon city; only in the great squarethere was a gentle stir and flutter and rustle and movement; forthousands of doves were flying about, and coming down to be fed, and acrowd of varied human nature, but chiefly not belonging to the place, were watching and distributing food to the feathered multitude. Peoplewere engaged with the doves, or with each other; few had a look tospare for the great church; nobody even glanced at the columns bearingSt. Theodore and the Lion.

That is, speaking generally. For under one of the arcades, leaningagainst one of the great pillars of the same, a man stood whose look byturns went to everything. He had been standing there motionless forhalf an hour; and it passed to him like a minute. Sometimes he studiedthat combination aforesaid, where feeling and fancy and faith have madesuch glorious work together; and to which, as I hinted, the Venetianevening was lending such indescribable magnificence. His eye dwelt ondetails of loveliness, of which it was constantly discovering newrevelations; or rested on the whole colour-glorified pile withmeditative remembrance of what it had seen and done, and whence it hadcome. Then with sudden transition he would give his attention to themotley crowd before him, and the soft-winged doves fluttering up anddown and filling the air. And, tiring of these, his look would go offagain to the bronze lion on his place of honour in the Piazzetta, histhought probably wandering back to the time when he was set there. Theman himself was noticed by nobody. He stood in the shade of the pillarand did not stir. He was a gentleman evidently; one sees that by slightcharacteristics, which are nevertheless quite unmistakeable and not tobe counterfeited. His dress of course was the quiet, unobtrusive, andyet perfectly correct thing, which dress ought to be. His attitude wasthat of a man who knew both how to move and how to be still, and didboth easily; and further, the look of him betrayed the habit of travel.This man had seen so much that he was not moved by any young curiosity; knew so much, that he could weigh and compare what he knew. His figurewas very good; his face agreeable and intelligent, with good observantgrey eyes; the whole appearance striking. But nobody noted him.

And he had noted nobody; the crowd before him was to him simply acrowd, which excited no interest except as a whole. Until, suddenly, hecaught sight of a head and shoulders in the moving throng, whichstarted him out of his carelessness. They were but a few yards fromhim, seen and lost again in the swaying mass of human beings; butthough half seen he was sure he could not mistake. He spoke out alittle loud the word "Tom!"

He was not heard, and the person spoken to moved out of sight again.The speaker, however, now left his place and plunged among the people.Presently he had another glimpse of the head and shoulders, and was yetmore sure of his man; lost sight of him anew, but, following in thedirection taken by the chase, gradually won his way nearer, and atlength overtook the man, who was then standing between the pillars ofthe Lion and St. Theodore, and looking out towards the water.

"Tom!" said his pursuer, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Philip Dillwyn!" said the other, turning. "Philip! Where did you comefrom? What a lucky turn-up! That I should find you here!"

"I found you, man. Where have you come from?"

"O, from everywhere."

"Are you alone? Where are your people?"

"O, Julia and Lenox are gone home. Mamma and I are here yet. I leftmamma in a pension in Switzerland, where I could not hold it out anylonger; and I have been wandering about – Florence, and Pisa, and Idon't know all – till now I have brought up in Venice. It is so jolly toget you!"

"What are you doing here?"

"Nothing."

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing. O, I have done everything, you know. There is nothing left toa fellow."

"That sounds hopeless," said Dillwyn, laughing.

"It is hopeless. Really I don't see, sometimes, what a fellow's life isgood for. I believe the people who have to work for it, have after allthe best time!"

"They work to live," said the other.

"I suppose they do."

"Therefore you are going round in a circle. If life is worth nothing, why should one work to keep it up?"

"Well, what is it worth, Dillwyn? Upon my word, I have never made itout satisfactorily."

"Look here – we cannot talk in this place. Have you ever been to

Torcello?"

"No."

"Suppose we take a gondola and go?"

"Now? What is there?"

"An old church."

"There are old churches all over. The thing is to find a new one."

"You prefer the new ones?"

"Just for the rarity," said Tom, smiling.

"I do not believe you have studied the old ones yet. Do you know themosaics in St. Mark's?"

"I never study mosaics."

"And I'll wager you have not seen the Tintorets in the Palace of the

Doges?"

"There are Tintorets all over!" said Tom, shrugging his shoulderswearily.

"Then have you seen Murano?"

"The glass-works, yes."

"I do not mean the glass-works. Come along – anywhere in a gondola willdo, such an evening as this; and we can talk comfortably. You need notlook at anything."

They entered a gondola, and were presently gliding smoothly over thecoloured waters of the lagoon; shining with richer sky reflections thanany mortal painter could put on canvas. Not long in silence.

"Where have you been, Tom, all this while?"

"I told you, everywhere!" said Tom, with another shrug of hisshoulders. "The one thing one comes abroad for, you know, is to runaway from the winter; so we have been doing that, as long as there wasany winter to run from, and since then we have been running away fromthe summer. Let me see – we came over in November, didn't we? orDecember; we went to Rome as fast as we could. There was very goodsociety in Rome last winter. Then, as spring came on, we coasted downto Naples and Palermo. We staid at Palermo a while. From there we wentback to England; and from England we came to Switzerland. And there wehave been till I couldn't stand Switzerland any longer; and I bolted."

"Palermo isn't a bad place to spend a while in."

"No; – but Sicily is stupid generally. It's all ridiculous, Philip.

Except for the name of the thing, one can get just as good nearer home.

I could get better sport at Appledore last summer, than in any place

I've been at in Europe."

"Ah! Appledore," said Philip slowly, and dipping his hand in the water.

"I surmise the society also was good there?"

"Would have been," Tom returned discontentedly, "if there had not beena little too much of it."

"Too much of it!"

"Yes. I couldn't stir without two or three at my heels. It's very kind, you know; but it rather hampers a fellow."

"Miss Lothrop was there, wasn't she?"

"Of course she was! That made all the trouble."

"And all the sport too; hey, Tom? Things usually are two-sided in thisworld."

"She made no trouble. It was my mother and sister. They were so awfullyafraid of her. And they drilled George in; so among them they were toomany for me. But I think Appledore is the nicest place I know."

"You might buy one of the islands – a little money would do it – build alodge, and have your Europe always at hand; when the winter is gone, asyou say. Even the winter you might manage to live through, if you couldsecure the right sort of society. Hey, Tom? Isn't that an idea? Iwonder it never occurred to you. I think one might bid defiance to theworld, if one were settled at the Isles of Shoals."

"Yes," said Tom, with something very like a groan. "If one hadn't amother and sister."

"You are heathenish!"

"I'm not, at all!" returned Tom passionately. "See here, Philip. Thereis one thing goes before mother and sister; and that you know. It's aman's wife. And I've seen my wife, and I can't get her."

"Why?" said Dillwyri dryly. He was hanging over the side of thegondola, and looking attentively at the play of colour in the water; which reflecting the sky in still splendour where it lay quiet, brokeup in ripples under the gondolier's oar, and seemed to scatter diamondsand amethysts and topazes in fairy-like prodigality all around.

"I've told you!" said Tom fretfully.

"Yes, but I do not comprehend. Does not the lady in question like

Appledore as well as you do?"

"She likes Appledore well enough. I do not know how well she likes me.I never had a chance to find out. I don't think she _dis_likes me, though," said Tom meditatively.

"It is not too late to find out yet," Philip said, with even moredryness in his tone.

"O, isn't it, though!" said Tom. "I'm tied up from ever asking her now.

I'm engaged to another woman."

"Tom!" said the other, suddenly straightening himself up.

"Don't shout at a fellow! What could I do? They wouldn't let me havewhat I wanted; and now they're quite pleased, and Julia has gone home.She has done her work. O, I am making an excellent match. 'An oldfamily, and three hundred thousand dollars,' as my mother says. That'sall one wants, you know."

"Who is the lady?"

"It don't matter, you know, when you have heard her qualifications.It's Miss Dulcimer – one of the Philadelphia Dulcimers. Of course onecouldn't make a better bargain for oneself. And I'm as fond of her as Ican be; in fact, I was afraid I was getting too fond. So I ran away,as I told you, to think over my happiness at leisure, and moderate myfeelings."

"Tom, Tom, I never heard you bitter before," said his friend, regardinghim with real concern.

"Because I never was bitter before. O, I shall be all right now. Ihaven't had a soul on whom I could pour out my mind, till this hour. Iknow you're as safe as a mine. It does me good to talk to you. I tellyou, I shall be all right. I'm a very happy bridegroom expectant. Youknow, if the Caruthers have plenty of money, the Dulcimers have twiceas much. Money's really everything."

"Have you any idea how this news will touch Miss – the other lady youwere talking about?"

"I suppose it won't touch her at all. She's different; that's onereason why I liked her. She would not care a farthing for me becauseI'm a Caruthers, or because I have money; not a brass farthing! She isthe _real_est person I ever saw. She would go about Appledore frommorning to night in the greatest state of delight you ever saw anybody; where my sister, for instance, would see nothing but rocks and weeds,Lois would have her hands full of what Julia would call trash, and whatto her was better than if the fairies had done it. Things pulled out ofthe shingle and mud, – I can just see her, – and flowers, and stones, andshells. What she would make of this now! – But you couldn't set thatgirl down anywhere, I believe, that she wouldn't find something to makeher feel rich. She's a richer woman this minute, than my Dulcimer withher thousands. And she's got good blood in her too, Philip. I learnedthat from Mrs. Wishart. She has the blood of ever so many of the oldPilgrims in her veins; and that is good descent, Philip?"

"They think so in New England."

"Well, they are right, I am ready to believe. Anyhow, I don't care – "

He broke off, and there was a silence of some minutes' length. Thegondola swam along over the quiet water, under the magnificent sky; thereflected colours glanced upon two faces, grave and self-absorbed.

"Old boy," said Philip at length, "I hardly think you are right."

"Right in what? I am right in all I have told you."

"I meant, right in your proposed plan of action. You may say it is noneof my business."

"I shall not say it, though. What's the wrong you mean?"

"It seems to me Miss Dulcimer would not feel obliged to you, if sheknew all."

"She doesn't feel obliged to me at all," said Tom. "She gives a good asshe gets."

"No better?"

"What do you mean?"

"Pardon me, Tom; but you have been frank with me. By your own account, she will get very little."

"All she wants. I'll give her a local habitation and a name."

"I am sure you are unjust."

"Not at all. That is all half the girls want; all they try for. She'svery content. O, I'm very good to her when we are together; and I meanto be. You needn't look at me," said Tom, trying to laugh."Three-quarters of all the marriages that are made are on the samepattern. Why, Phil, what do the men and women of this world live for?What's the purpose in all I've been doing since I left college? What'sthe good of floating round in the world as I have been doing all summerand winter here this year? and at home it is different only in themanner of it. People live for nothing, and don't enjoy life. I don'tknow at this minute a single man or woman, of our sort, you know, thatenjoys life; except that one. And she isn't our sort. She has nomoney, and no society, and no Europe to wander round in! O, they wouldsay they enjoy life; but their way shows they don't."

"Enjoyment is not the first thing," Philip said thoughtfully.

"O, isn't it! It's what we're all after, anyhow; you'll allow that."

"Perhaps that is the way we miss it."

"So Dulcimer and I are all right, you see," pursued Tom, withoutheeding this remark. "We shall be a very happy couple. All the worldwill have us at their houses, and we shall have all the world at ours.There won't be room left for any thing but happiness; and that'llsqueeze in anywhere, you know. It's like chips floating round on thesurface of a whirlpool – they fly round and round splendidly – till theyget sucked in."

"Tom!" cried his companion. "What has come to you? Your life is not sodifferent now from what it has always been; – and I have always knownyou for a light-hearted fellow. I can't have you take this tone."

Tom was silent, biting the ends of his moustache in a nervous way, which bespoke a good deal of mental excitement; Philip feared, ofmental trouble.

"If a friend may ask, how came you to do what is so unsatisfactory toyou?" he said at length.

"My mother and sister! They were so preciously afraid I should ruinmyself. Philip, I could not make head against them. They were toomuch for me, and too many for me; they were all round me; they wereahead of me; I had no chance at all. So I gave up in despair. Women arethe overpowering when they take a thing in their head! A man's nowhere.I gave in, and gave up, and came away, and now – they're satisfied."

"Then the affair is definitely concluded?"

"As definitely as if my head was off."

Philip did not laugh, and there was a pause again. The colours werefading from sky and water, and a yellow, soft moonlight began to asserther turn. It was a change of beauty for beauty; but neither of the twoyoung men seemed to take notice of it.

"Tom," began the other after a time, "what you say about the way mostof us live, is more or less true; and it ought not to be true."

"Of course it is true!" said Tom.

"But it ought not to be true."

"What are you going to do about it? One must do as everybody else does;

I suppose."

"Must one? That is the very question."

"What can you do else, as long as you haven't your bread to get?"

"I believe the people who have their bread to get have the best ofit. But there must be some use in the world, I suppose, for those whoare under no such necessity. Did you ever hear that Miss – Lothrop'sfamily were strictly religious?"

"No – yes, I have," said Tom. "I know she is."

"That would not have suited you."

"Yes, it would. Anything she did would have suited me. I have a greatrespect for religion, Philip."

"What do you mean by religion?"

"I don't know – what everybody means by it. It is the care of thespiritual part of our nature, I suppose."

"And how does that care work?"

"I don't know," said Tom. "It works altar-cloths; and it seems to meanchurch-going, and choral music, and teaching ragged schools; and thatsort of thing. I don't understand it; but I should never interfere withit. It seems to suit the women particularly."

Again there fell a pause.

"Where have you been, Dillwyn? and what brought you here again?" Tombegan now.

"I came to pass the time," the other said musingly.

"Ah! And where have you passed it?"

"Along the shores of the Adriatic, part of the time. At Abazzia, and

Sebenico, and the islands."

"What's in all that? I never heard of Abazzia."

"The world is a large place," said Philip absently.

"But what is Abazzia?"

"A little paradise of a place, so sheltered that it is like a nest ofall lovely things. Really; it has its own climate, through certainfavouring circumstances; and it is a hidden little nook of delight."

"Ah! – What took you to the shores of the Adriatic, anyhow?"

"Full of interest," said Philip.

"Pray, of what kind?"

"Every kind. Historical, industrial, mechanical, natural, and artistic.But I grant you, Tom, that was not why I went there. I went there toget out of the ruts of travel and break new ground. Like you, being alittle tired of going round in a circle for ever. And it occurs to methat man must have been made for somewhat else than such a purposelesscircle. No other creature is a burden to himself."

"Because no other creature thinks," said Tom.

"The power of thought can surely be no final disadvantage."

"I don't see what it amounts to," Tom returned. "A man is happy enough,I suppose, as long as he is busy thinking out some newthing – inventing, creating, discovering, or working out hisdiscoveries; but as soon as he has brought his invention to perfectionand set it going, he is tired of it, and drives after something else."

"You are coming to Solomon's judgment," said the other, leaning backupon the cushions and clasping his hands above his head, – "what thepreacher says – 'Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.'"

"Well, so are you," said Tom.

"It makes me ashamed."

"Of what?"

"Myself."

"Why?"

"That I should have lived to be thirty-two years old, and never havedone anything, or found any way to be of any good in the world! Thereisn't a butterfly of less use than I!"

"You weren't made to be of use," said Tom.

"Upon my word, my dear fellow, you have said the most disparagingthing, I hope, that ever was said of me! You cannot better thatstatement, if you think an hour! You mean it of me as a human being, Itrust? not as an individual? In the one case it would be indeedmelancholy, but in the other it would be humiliating. You take therace, not the personal view. The practical view is, that what is of nouse had better not be in existence. Look here – here we are at Murano; Ihad not noticed it. Shall we land, and see things by moonlight? or goback to Venice?"

"Back, and have dinner," said Tom.

"By way of prolonging this existence, which to you is burdensome and tome is unsatisfactory. Where is the logic of that?"

But they went back, and had a very good dinner too.

CHAPTER XXIX
AN OX CART

It happened not far from this same time in the end of August, when Mr.Dillwyn and Tom Caruthers came together on the Piazzetta of St. Mark, that another meeting took place in the far-away regions of Shampuashuh.A train going to Boston was stopped by a broken bridge ahead, and itspassengers discharged in one of the small towns along the coast, towait until the means of getting over the little river could bearranged. People on a railway journey commonly do not like to wait; itwas different no doubt in the days of stage-coaches, when patience hadsome exercise frequently; now, we are spoiled, and you may notice thatten minutes' delay is often more than can be endured with complacency.Our fathers and mothers had hours to wait, and took it as a matter ofcourse.

Among the impatient passengers thrown out at Independence were twospecially impatient.

"What on earth shall we do with ourselves?" said the lady.

"Pity the break-down had not occurred a little further on," said thegentleman. "You might have visited your friend – or Tom's friend – MissLothrop. We are just a few miles from Shampuashuh."

"Shampuashuh! – Miss Lothrop! – Was that where she lived? How far,

George?"

"A few miles – half a dozen, perhaps."

"O George, let us get horses and drive there!"

"But then you may not catch the train this evening again."

"I don't care. I cannot wait here. It would be a great deal better tohave the drive and see the other place. Yes, we will go and visit her.Get horses, George, please! Quick. This is terrible."

"Will you ask for their hospitality?"

"Yes, of course. They would be delighted. That is just what the bettersort of country people like, to have somebody come and see them. Makehaste, George."

With a queer little smile on his face, Mr. Lenox however did as he wasdesired. A waggon was procured without very much delay, in which theycould be driven to Shampuashuh.

It was a very warm day, and the travellers had just the height of it.Hot sunbeams poured down upon them; the level, shadeless countrythrough which lay their way, showed as little as it could of theattractive features which really belonged to it. The lady declaredherself exceeded by the heat and dust; the gentleman opined they mightas well have stayed in Independence, where they were. Between two andthree o'clock they entered the long green street of Shampuashuh. Thesunbeams seemed tempered there, but it was only a mental effectproduced by the quiet beauty and airy space of the village avenue, andthe shade of great elms which fell so frequently upon the wayside grass.

"What a sweet place!" cried the lady.

"Comfortable-looking houses," suggested the gentleman.

"It seems cooler here," the lady went on.

"It is getting to a cooler time of day."

"Why, no, George! Three o'clock is just the crown of the heat. Don't itlook as if nobody ever did anything here? There's no stir at all."

"My eyes see different tokens; they are more versed in business thanyours are – naturally."

"What do your eyes see?" – a little impatiently.

"You may notice that nothing is out of order. There is no bit of fenceout of repair; and never a gate hanging upon its hinges. There is nocarelessness. Do you observe the neatness of this broad street?"

"What should make it unneat? with so few travellers?"

"Ground is the last thing to keep itself in order. I notice, too, theneat stacks of wood in the wood-sheds. And in the fields we havepassed, the work is all done, up to the minute; nothing hanging by theeyelids. The houses are full of windows, and all of them shiningbright."

"You might be a newspaper reporter, George! Is this the house we arecoming to? It is quite a large house; quite respectable."

"Did you think that little girl had come out of any but a respectablehouse?"

"Pshaw, George! you know what I mean. They are very poor and very plainpeople. I suppose we might go straight in?"

They dismissed their vehicle, so burning their ships, and knocked atthe front door. A moment after it was opened by Charity. Her tallfigure was arrayed in a homely print gown, of no particular fashion; alittle shawl was over her shoulders, notwithstanding the heat, and onher head a sun-bonnet.

"Does Miss Lothrop live here?"

"Three of us," said Charity, confronting the pair with a doubtful face.

"Is Miss Lois at home?"

"She's as near as possible not," said the door-keeper; "but I guess sheis. You may come in, and I'll see."

She opened a door in the hall which led to a room on the north side ofit, corresponding to Mrs. Barclay's on the south; and there she leftthem. It was large and pleasant and cool, if it was also very plain; and Mrs. Lenox sank into a rocking-chair, repeating to herself that itwas 'very respectable.' On a table at one side lay a few books, whichdrew Mr. Lenox's curiosity.

"Ruskin's 'Modern Painters'!" he exclaimed, looking at his wife.

"Selections, I suppose."

"No, this is Vol. 5. And the next is Thiers' 'Consulate and Empire'!"

"Translation."

"No. Original. And 'the Old Red Sandstone.'"

"What's that?"

"Hugh Miller."

"Who's Hugh Miller?"

"He is, or was, a gentleman whom you would not admit to your society.

He began life as a Scotch mason."

Meanwhile, Charity, going back to the living-room of the family, foundthere Lois busied in arraying old Mrs. Armadale for some sort ofexcursion; putting a light shawl about her, and drawing a whitesun-bonnet over her cap. Lois herself was in an old nankeen dress witha cape, and had her hat on.

"There's some folks that want you, Lois," her sister announced.

"Want me!" said Lois. "Who is it? why didn't you tell them we were justgoing out?"

"I don't usually say things without I know that it's so," responded

Charity. "Maybe we're going to be hindered."

"We must not be hindered," returned Lois. "Grandmother is ready, and

Mrs. Barclay is ready, and the cart is here. We must go, whoever comes.

You get mother into the cart, and the baskets and everything, and I'll be as quick as I can."

So Lois went into the parlour. A great surprise came over her when shesaw who was there, and with the surprise a slight feeling of amusement; along with some other feeling, she could not have told what, which puther gently upon her mettle. She received her visitors frankly andpleasantly, and also with a calm ease which at the moment was superiorto their own. So she heard their explanation of what had befallen them, and of their resolution to visit her; and a slight account of theirdrive from Independence; all which Mrs. Lenox gave with more prolixitythan she had intended or previously thought necessary.

"And now," said Lois, "I will invite you to another drive. We are justgoing down to the Sound, to smell the salt air and get cooled off. Weshall have supper down there before we come home. I do not think Icould give you anything pleasanter, if I had the choice; but it happensthat all is arranged for this. Do come with us; it will be a varietyfor you, at least."

The lady and gentleman looked at each other.

"It's so hot!" objected the former.

"It will be cooler every minute now," said Lois.

"We ought to take the train – when it comes along – "

"You cannot tell when that will be," said Mr. Lenox. "You would find itvery tedious waiting at the station. We might take the night train.That will pass about ten o'clock, or should."

"But we should be in your way, I am afraid," Mrs. Lenox went on, turning to Lois. "You are not prepared for two more in your party."

"Always!" said Lois, smiling. "We should never think ourselves preparedat all, in Shampuashuh, if we were not ready for two more than theparty. And the cart will hold us all."

"The cart!" cried the other.

"Yes. O yes! I did not tell you that," said Lois, smiling more broadly."We are going in an ox cart. That will be a novel experience for youtoo."

If Mrs. Lenox had not half accepted the invitation already, I am notsure but this intimation would have been too much for her courage.However, she was an outwardly well-bred woman; that is, like so manyothers, well-bred when there was nothing to gain by being otherwise; and so she excused her hesitation and doubt by the plea of being "sodusty." There was help for that; Lois took her upstairs to a neatchamber, and furnished her with water and towels.

It was new experience to the city lady. She took note, halfdisdainfully, of the plainness of the room; the painted floor, yellowand shining, which boasted only one or two little strips of carpet; thecommon earthenware toilet-set; the rush-bottomed chairs. On the otherhand, there was an old mahogany dressing bureau; a neat bed; and waterand towels (the latter coarse) were exceedingly fresh and sweet. Shemade up her mind to go through with the adventure, and rejoined herhusband with a composed mind.

Lois took them first to the sitting-room, where they were introduced toMrs. Barclay, and then they all went out at the back door of the house, and across a little grassy space, to a gate leading into a lane. Herestood the cart, in which the rest of the family was already bestowed;Mrs. Armadale being in an arm-chair with short legs, while Madge andCharity sat in the straw with which the whole bottom of the cart wasspread. A tall, oldish man, with an ox whip, stood leaning against thefence and surveying things.

"Are we to go in there?" said Mrs. Lenox, with perceptible doubt.

"It's the only carriage we have to offer you," said Lois merrily. "Foryour sake, I wish we had a better; for my own, I like nothing so wellas an ox cart. Mrs. Barclay, will you get in? and stimulate this lady'scourage?"

A kitchen chair had been brought out to facilitate the operation; andMrs. Barclay stepped lightly in, curled herself down in the soft bed ofstraw, and declared that it was very comfortable. With an expression offace which made Lois and Madge laugh for weeks after when they recalledit, Mrs. Lenox stepped gingerly in, following, and took her place.

"Grandmother," said Lois, "this is Mrs. Lenox, whom you have heard mespeak about. And these are my sisters, Madge and Charity, Mrs. Lenox.And grandmother, this is Mr. Lenox. Now, you see the cart has roomenough," she added, as herself and the gentleman also took their seats.

"Is that the hull of ye?" inquired now the man with the ox whip, comingforward. "And be all your stores got in for the v'yage? I don't want tobe comin' back from somewheres about half-way."

"All right, Mr. Sears," said Lois. "You may drive on. Mother, are youcomfortable?"

And then there was a "whoa" – ing and a "gee" – ing and a mysteriousflourishing of the long leathern whip, with which the driver seemed tobe playing; for if its tip touched the shoulders of the oxen it did nomore, though it waved over them vigorously. But the oxen understood, and pulled the cart forward; lifting and setting down their heavy feetwith great deliberation seemingly, but with equal certain'ty, andswaying their great heads gently from side to side as they went. Loiswas so much amused at her guests' situation, that she had somedifficulty to keep her features in their due calmness and sobriety.Mrs. Lenox eyed the oxen, then the contents of the cart, then thefields.

"Slow travelling!" said Lois, with a smile.