"I am afraid," said Zenobia, with mirth gleaming out of her eyes, "we

shall find some difficulty in adopting the paradisiacal system for at

least a month to come. Look at that snowdrift sweeping past the

window! Are there any figs ripe, do you think? Have the pineapples

been gathered to-day? Would you like a bread-fruit, or a cocoanut?

Shall I run out and pluck you some roses? No, no, Mr. Coverdale; the

only flower hereabouts is the one in my hair, which I got out of a

greenhouse this morning. As for the garb of Eden," added she,

shivering playfully, "I shall not assume it till after May-day!"

Assuredly Zenobia could not have intended it,--the fault must have been

entirely in my imagination. But these last words, together with

something in her manner, irresistibly brought up a picture of that

fine, perfectly developed figure, in Eve's earliest garment. Her free,

careless, generous modes of expression often had this effect of

creating images which, though pure, are hardly felt to be quite

decorous when born of a thought that passes between man and woman.

I imputed it, at that time, to Zenobia's noble courage, conscious of no

harm, and scorning the petty restraints which take the life and color

out of other women's conversation. There was another peculiarity about

her. We seldom meet with women nowadays, and in this country, who

impress us as being women at all,--their sex fades away and goes for

nothing, in ordinary intercourse. Not so with Zenobia. One felt an

influence breathing out of her such as we might suppose to come from

Eve, when she was just made, and her Creator brought her to Adam,

saying, "Behold! here is a woman!" Not that I would convey the idea of

especial gentleness, grace, modesty, and shyness, but of a certain warm

and rich characteristic, which seems, for the most part, to have been

refined away out of the feminine system.

"And now," continued Zenobia, "I must go and help get supper. Do you

think you can be content, instead of figs, pineapples, and all the

other delicacies of Adam's supper-table, with tea and toast, and a

certain modest supply of ham and tongue, which, with the instinct of a

housewife, I brought hither in a basket? And there shall be bread and

milk, too, if the innocence of your taste demands it."

The whole sisterhood now went about their domestic avocations, utterly

declining our offers to assist, further than by bringing wood for the

kitchen fire from a huge pile in the back yard. After heaping up more

than a sufficient quantity, we returned to the sitting-room, drew our

chairs close to the hearth, and began to talk over our prospects.

Soon, with a tremendous stamping in the entry, appeared Silas Foster,

lank, stalwart, uncouth, and grizzly-bearded. He came from foddering

the cattle in the barn, and from the field, where he had been

ploughing, until the depth of the snow rendered it impossible to draw a

furrow. He greeted us in pretty much the same tone as if he were

speaking to his oxen, took a quid from his iron tobacco-box, pulled off

his wet cowhide boots, and sat down before the fire in his

stocking-feet. The steam arose from his soaked garments, so that the

stout yeoman looked vaporous and spectre-like.




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