Nobody. Warner Susan

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 company that does; but I enjoy them."

      "By the power of what secret talisman?"

      "I don't know; – being happy, I suppose," said Lois shyly.

      "You are speaking seriously; and therefore you are touching thegreatest question of human life. Can you say of yourself that you aretruly happy?"

      Lois met his eyes in a little wonderment at this questioning, andanswered a plain "yes."

      "But, to be happy, with me, means, to be independent ofcircumstances. I do not call him happy, whose happiness is gone ifthe east wind blow, or a party miscarry, or a bank break; even thoughit were the bank in which his property is involved."

      "Nor do I," said Lois gravely.

      "And – pray forgive me for asking! – but, are you happy in this exclusivesense?"

      "I have no property in a bank," said Lois, smiling again; "I have notbeen tried that way; but I suppose it may do as well to have noproperty anywhere. Yes, Mr. Dillwyn."

      "But that is equal to having the philosopher's stone!" cried Dillwyn.

      "What is the philosopher's stone?"

      "The wise men of old time made themselves very busy in the search forsome substance, or composition, which would turn other substances togold. Looking upon gold as the source and sum of all felicity, theyspent endless pains and countless time upon the search for thistransmuting substance. They thought, if they could get gold enough, they would be happy. Sometimes some one of them fancied he was justupon the point of making the immortal discovery; but there he alwaysbroke down."

      "They were looking in the wrong place," said Lois thoughtfully.

      "Is there a right place to look then?"

      Lois smiled. It was a smile that struck Philip very much, for its calmand confident sweetness; yes, more than that; for its gladness. She wasnot in haste to answer; apparently she felt some difficulty.

      "I do not think gold ever made anybody happy," she said at length.

      "That is what moralists tell us. But, after all, Miss Lothrop, money isthe means to everything else in this world."

      "Not to happiness, is it?"

      "Well, what is, then? They say – and perhaps you will say – thatfriendships and affections can do more; but I assure you, where thereare not the means to stave off grinding toil or crushing poverty, affections wither; or if they do not quite wither, they bear no goldenfruit of happiness. On the contrary, they offer vulnerable spots to thestings of pain."

      "Money can do a great deal," said Lois.

      "What can do more?"

      Lois lifted up her eyes and looked at her questioner inquiringly. Didhe know no better than that?

      "With money, one can do everything," he went on, though struck by herexpression.

      "Yes," said Lois; "and yet – all that never satisfied anybody."

      "Satisfied!" cried Philip. "Satisfied is a very large word. Who issatisfied?"

      Lois glanced up again, mutely.

      "If I dared venture to say so – you look, Miss Lothrop, you absolutelylook, as if you were; and yet it is impossible."

      "Why is it impossible?"

      "Because it is what all the generations of men have been trying for, ever since the world began; and none of them ever found it."

      "Not if they looked for it in their money bags," said Lois. "It wasnever found there."

      "Was it ever found anywhere?"

      "Why, yes!"

      "Pray tell me where, that I may have it too!"

      The girl's cheeks flushed; and what was very odd to Philip, her eyes,he was sure, had grown moist; but the lids fell over them, and he couldnot