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Updated: June 24, 2025
Evelyn's. Fleda was very early. She ran up to the first floor, rooms lighted and open, but nobody there. "Fleda Ringgan," called out the voice of Constance from over the stairs, "is that you?" "Yes," said Fleda. "Well just wait till I come down to you. My darling little Fleda, it's delicious of you to come so early. Now just tell me, am I captivating?"
"I trust Miss Ringgan will do me the favour of making me acquainted with a with our future pastor!" said the doctor, looking however not at all at Miss Ringgan but straight at the pastor in question. "I have great pleasure in giving you the first welcome, sir, or, I should say, rather the second; since no doubt Miss Ringgan has been in advance of me.
Ringgan, to have lived at a time when there was something worth living for." "Well I don't know " said the old gentleman; "those times would make the prettiest figure in a story or a romance, I suppose; but I've tried both, and on the whole," said he, with another of his looks at Fleda, "I think I like these times the best!" Fleda smiled her acquiescence.
Rossitur's down to Queechy." "Mr. Rossitur's!" said Mrs. Evelyn; "does he send them here?" "He doos not," said Philetus; "he doosn't keep to hum for a long spell." "Who does send them then?" said Constance. "Who doos? It's Miss Fliddy Ringgan." "Mamma!" exclaimed Constance looking up. "What does she have to do with it?" said Mrs. Evelyn.
"Mamma," said Edith, "what ails Fleda?" "I don't know, my love," said Mrs. Evelyn. "Nothing, I hope." "There does, though," said Edith decidedly. "Come here, Edith," said Constance, "and don't meddle with matters above your comprehension. Miss Ringgan has probably hurt her hand with throwing stones." "Hurt her hand!" said Edith. But she was taken possession of by her eldest sister.
"Ain't she growed like her father, Mis' Douglass?" said the sewing-woman. "Do you recollect Walter Ringgan? What a handsome feller he was!" The two opposite girls immediately found something to say to each other. "She aint a bit more like him than she is like her mother," said Mrs. Douglass, biting off the end of her thread energetically.
Taking Fleda's hand with his wonted graceful lightness of manner he walked on with her, leaving the other two to follow together. "You would like to know, perhaps," observed Mr. Rossitur in rather a low tone, "that Mr. Carleton is an Englishman." "Ay, ay?" said Mr. Ringgan. "An Englishman, is he? Well sir, what is it that I would like to know?" "That" said Rossitur.
"Won't you come in, sir?" said Cynthy; "maybe you'll see Mis' Plumfield." "No, certainly," replied the visitor. "Only tell me about Mr. Ringgan." "He died last night." "What was the matter with him?" "I don't know," said Cynthy in a business-like tone of voice, "I s'pose the doctor knows, but he didn't say nothing about it. He died very sudden." "Was he alone?"
Ringgan, with a look of grave and not unmoved consideration which Fleda did not in the least like; "How long will you stay at Montepoole, sir?" It might be several days, Mr. Carleton said. "Hum You have given up this day to Fleda, Mr. Carleton, suppose you take to-morrow for the game, and come here and try our country fare when you have got through shooting? you and young Mr.
Olmney standing before her, and looking so sorrowful that Fleda's eyes could not bear it. "My dear Miss Ringgan! forgive me I hope you will forgive me but I could not leave you in such distress. I knew that in you it could only be from some very serious cause of grief." "I cannot say it is from anything new, Mr. Olmney except to my apprehensions."
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