Nobody Part 82

"Then he may come?"

"Certainly. When does he wish to come?"

"This week--Sat.u.r.day. His name is Dillwyn."

"Dillwyn!" Lois repeated. "Dillwyn? I saw a Mr. Dillwyn at Mrs.

Wishart's once or twice."

"It must be the same. I do not know of two. And he knows Mrs. Wishart.

So you remember him? What do you remember about him?"

"Not much. I have an impression that he knows a great deal, and has very pleasant manners."

"Quite right. That is the man. So he may come? Thank you."

Lois took up one of her baskets of apples and carried it into the house, where she deposited it at Mrs. Armadale's feet.

"They are beautiful this year, aren't they, mother? Girls, we are going to have a visitor."

Charity was brus.h.i.+ng up the floor; the broom paused. Madge was sewing; the needle remained drawn out. Both looked at Lois.

"A visitor!" came from both pairs of lips.

"Yes, indeed. A visitor. A gentleman. And he is coming to stay over Sunday. So, Charry, you must see and have things very special. And so must I."

"A gentleman! Who is he? Uncle Tim?"

"Not a bit of it. A young, at least a much younger, gentleman; a travelled gentleman; an elegant gentleman. A friend of Mrs. Barclay."

"What are we to do with him?"

"Nothing. Nothing whatever. We have nothing to do with him, and couldn't do it if we had."

"You needn't laugh. We have got to lodge him and feed him."

"That's easy. I'll put the white spread on the bed in the spare room; and you may get out your pickles."

"Pickles! Is he fond of pickles?"

"I don't know!" said Lois, laughing still. "I have an impression he is a man who likes all sorts of nice things."

"I hate men who like nice things! But, Lois!--there will be Sat.u.r.day tea, and Sunday breakfast and dinner and supper, and Monday morning breakfast."

"Perhaps Monday dinner."

"O, he can't stay to dinner."

"Why not?"

"It is was.h.i.+ng day."

"My dear Charry! to such men Monday is just like all other days; and was.h.i.+ng is--well, of course, a necessity, but it is done by fairies, or it might be, for all they know about it."

"There's five meals anyhow," Charity went on.--"Wouldn't it be a good plan to get uncle Tim to be here?"

"What for?"

"Why, we haven't a man in the house."

"What then?"

"Who'll talk to him?"

"Mrs. Barclay will take care of that. You, Charity dear, see to your pickles."

"I don't know what you mean," said Charity fretfully. "What are we going to have for dinner, Sunday? I could frica.s.see a pair of chickens."

"No, Charity, you couldn't. Sunday is Sunday, just as much with Mr.

Dillwyn here."

"Dillwyn!" said Madge. "I've heard you speak of him."

"Very likely. I saw him once or twice in my New York days."

"And he gave you lunch."

"Mrs. Wishart and me. Yes. And a good lunch it was. That's why I spoke of pickles, Charity. Do the very best you can."

"I cannot do my best, unless I can cook the chickens," said Charity, who all this while stood leaning upon her broom. "I might do it for once."

"Where is your leave to do wrong once?"

"But this is a particular occasion--you may call it a necessity; and necessity makes an exception."

"What is the necessity, Charity?" said Mrs. Armadale, who until now had not spoken.

"Why, grandma, you want to treat a stranger well?"

"With whatever I have got to give him. But Sunday time isn't mine to give."

"But _necessary_ things, grandma?--we may do necessary things?"

"What have you got in the house?"

"Nothing on earth, except a ham to boil. Cold ham,--that's all. Do you think that's enough?"

"It won't hurt him to dine on cold ham," the old lady said complacently.

"Why don't you cook your chickens and have them cold too?" Lois asked.