were! and how quick to receive and keen to passjudgement was the intelligence behind them. It surprised him; however, its responses were mainly given through the eyes. In vain he tried toget a fair share of words from her too; sought to draw her out. Loiswas not afraid to speak; and yet, for sheer modesty and simpleness, that supposed her words incapable of giving pleasure and would notspeak them as a matter of conventionality, she said very few. At lastPhilip made a determined effort to draw her out.
"I have told you now about my home," he said. "What is yours like?" Andhis manner said, I am going to stop, and you are going to begin.
"There is nothing striking about it, I think," said Lois.
"Perhaps you think so, just because it is familiar to you."
"No, it is because there is really not much to tell about it. There arejust level farm fields; and the river, and the Sound."
"The river?"
"The Connecticut."
"O, that is where you are, is it? And are you near the river?"
"Not very near. About as near the river on one side as we are to the
Sound on the other; either of them is a mile and more away."
"You wish they were nearer?"
"No," said Lois; "I don't think I do; there is always the pleasure ofgoing to them."
"Then you should wish them further. A mile is a short drive."
"O, we do not drive much. We walk to the shore often, and sometimes tothe river."
"You like the large water so much the best?"
"I think I like it best," said Lois, laughing a little; "but we go forclams."
"Can you get them yourself?"
"Certainly! It is great fun. While you go to drive in the Park, we goto dig clams. And I think we have the best of it too, for a stand-by."
"Do tell me about the clams."
"Do you like them?"
"I suppose I do. I do not know them. What are they? the usual littlesoup fish?"
"I don't know about soup fish. O no! not those; they are not the sortMrs. Wishart has sometimes. These are long; ours in the Sound, I mean; longish and blackish; and do not taste like the clams you have here."
"Better, I hope?"
"A great deal better. There is nothing much pleasanter than a dish oflong clams that you have dug yourself. At least we think so."
"Because you have got them yourself!"
"No; but I suppose that helps."
"So you get them by digging?"
"Yes. It is funny work. The clams are at the edge of the water, wherethe rushes grow, in the mud. We go for them when the tide is out. Then,in the blue mud you see quantities of small holes as big as a leadpencil would make; those are the clam holes."
"And what then?"
"Then we dig for them; dig with a hoe; and you must dig very fast, orthe clam will get away from you. Then, if you get pretty near him hespits at you."
"I suppose that is a harmless remonstrance."
"It may come in your face."
Mr. Dillwyn laughed a little, looking at this fair creature, who wastalking to him, and finding it hard to imagine her among the rushesracing with a long clam.
"It is wet ground I suppose, where you find the clams?"
"O yes. One must take off shoes and stockings and go barefoot. But themud is warm, and it is pleasant enough."
"The clams must be good, to reward the trouble?"
"We think it is as pleasant to get them as to eat them."
"I believe you remarked, this sport is your substitute for our Central
Park?"
"Yes, it is a sort of a substitute."
"And, in the comparison, you think you are the gainers?"
"You cannot compare the two things," said Lois; "only that both areways of seeking pleasure."
"So you say; and I wanted your comparative estimate of the two ways."
"Central Park is new to me, you know," said Lois; "and I am very fondof riding, —driving, Mrs. Wishart says I ought to call it; the sceneis like fairyland to me. But I do not think it is better fun, really, than going after clams. And the people do not seem to enjoy it aquarter as much."
"The people whom you see driving?"
"Yes. They do not look as if they were taking much pleasure. Most ofthem."
"Pray why should they go, if they do not find pleasure in it?"
Lois looked at her questioner.
"You can tell, better than I, Mr. Dillwyn. For the same reasons, Isuppose, that they do other things."
"Pardon me, – what things do you mean?"
"I mean, all the things they do for pleasure, or that are supposed tobe for pleasure. Parties – luncheon parties, and dinners, and – " Loishesitated.
"Supposed to be for pleasure!" Philip echoed the words. "Excuseme – but what makes you think they do not gain their end?"
"People do not look really happy," said Lois. "They do not seem to meas if they really enjoyed what they were doing."
"You are a nice observer!"
"Am I?"
"Pray, at – I forget the name – your home in the country, are the peoplemore happily constituted?"
"Not that I know of. Not more happily constituted; but I think theylive more natural lives."
"Instance!" said Philip, looking curious.
"Well," said Lois, laughing and colouring, "I do not think they dothings unless they want to. They do not ask people unless they want tosee them; and when they do make a party, everybody has a good time.It is not brilliant, or splendid, or wonderful, like parties here; butyet I think it is more really what it is meant to be."
"And here you think things are not what they are meant to be?"
"Perhaps I am mistaken," said Lois modestly. "I have seen so little."
"You are not mistaken in your general view. It would be a mistake tothink there are no exceptions."
"O, I do not think that."
"But it is matter of astonishment to me, how you have so soon acquiredsuch keen discernment. Is it that you do not enjoy these occasionsyourself?"
"O, I enjoy them intensely," said Lois, smiling. "Sometimes I think Iam the only one of the
