The Well Grounded Python Developer 1st Edition

Doug Farrell pdf download

https://ebookfinal.com/download/the-well-grounded-python-
developer-1st-edition-doug-farrell/

Explore and download more ebooks or textbooks

at ebookfinal.com
Here are some recommended products for you. Click the link to
download, or explore more at ebookfinal

The Well Grounded Rubyist 2nd Edition David A. Black

https://ebookfinal.com/download/the-well-grounded-rubyist-2nd-edition-
david-a-black/

Python Developer s Handbook André Dos Santos Lessa

https://ebookfinal.com/download/python-developer-s-handbook-andre-dos-
santos-lessa/

Team Geek A Software Developer s Guide to Working Well

with Others 1st Edition Brian W. Fitzpatrick

https://ebookfinal.com/download/team-geek-a-software-developer-s-
guide-to-working-well-with-others-1st-edition-brian-w-fitzpatrick/

The Third Way 1st Edition Joseph P. Farrell

https://ebookfinal.com/download/the-third-way-1st-edition-joseph-p-
farrell/
Totally Incorrect Conversations With Doug Casey 1st
Edition Doug Casey

https://ebookfinal.com/download/totally-incorrect-conversations-with-
doug-casey-1st-edition-doug-casey/

Cocoon Developer s Handbook Developer s Library 1st

Edition Lajos Moczar

https://ebookfinal.com/download/cocoon-developer-s-handbook-developer-
s-library-1st-edition-lajos-moczar/

mod_perl Developer s Cookbook Developer s Library 1st

Edition Geoffrey Young

https://ebookfinal.com/download/mod_perl-developer-s-cookbook-
developer-s-library-1st-edition-geoffrey-young/

The Political Economy of Celebrity Activism 1st Edition

Nathan Farrell

https://ebookfinal.com/download/the-political-economy-of-celebrity-
activism-1st-edition-nathan-farrell/

Grounded Globalism How the U S South Embraces the World

1st Edition James L. Peacock

https://ebookfinal.com/download/grounded-globalism-how-the-u-s-south-
embraces-the-world-1st-edition-james-l-peacock/
The Well Grounded Python Developer 1st Edition Doug
Farrell Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Doug Farrell
ISBN(s): 9781617297441, 1617297445
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 10.35 MB
Year: 2023
Language: english
How the pros use Python and Flask

Doug Farrell
Foreword by Michael Kennedy

MANNING
2 EPILOGUE

The square, circle, and

rectangle shapes drawn,
and being animated,
onscreen

In this book, you’ll see how object-oriented programming (OOP) concepts can be used in Python
code to create an application that animates a rectangle, square, and circle that inherit from the
parent shape. By using inheritance, polymorphism, and composition, you’ll be able to build object
hierarchies that extend and re-use common data and behavior of objects.

Upload by >> dr-notes.com

The Well-Grounded Python Developer
Upload by >> dr-notes.com
The Well-Grounded
Python Developer
HOW THE PROS USE PYTHON AND FLASK

DOUG FARRELL
Foreword by MICHAEL KENNEDY

MANNING
SHELTER ISLAND
For online information and ordering of this and other Manning books, please visit
www.manning.com. The publisher offers discounts on this book when ordered in quantity.
For more information, please contact
Special Sales Department
Manning Publications Co.
20 Baldwin Road
PO Box 761
Shelter Island, NY 11964
Email: orders@manning.com

©2023 by Manning Publications Co. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in

any form or by means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without prior
written permission of the publisher.

Many of the designations used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their products are
claimed as trademarks. Where those designations appear in the book, and Manning
Publications was aware of a trademark claim, the designations have been printed in initial caps
or all caps.

Recognizing the importance of preserving what has been written, it is Manning’s policy to have
the books we publish printed on acid-free paper, and we exert our best efforts to that end.
Recognizing also our responsibility to conserve the resources of our planet, Manning books
are printed on paper that is at least 15 percent recycled and processed without the use of
elemental chlorine.
The author and publisher have made every effort to ensure that the information in this book
was correct at press time. The author and publisher do not assume and hereby disclaim any
liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether
such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause, or from any
usage of the information herein.

Manning Publications Co. Development editor: Christina Taylor

20 Baldwin Road Technical development editor: René van den Berg
PO Box 761 Review editor: Aleksandar Dragosavljević
Shelter Island, NY 11964 Production editor: Kathleen Rossland
Copy editor: Kristen Bettcher
Proofreader: Michael Beady
Technical proofreader: Mathijs Affourtit
Typesetter and cover designer: Marija Tudor

ISBN 9781617297441
Printed in the United States of America

Upload by >> dr-notes.com

This book is dedicated to my partner and wife, Susan,
whose encouragement, patience, and
love makes all things possible.
 brief contents
1 ■ Becoming a Pythonista 1

PART 1 GROUNDWORK .............................................................. 11

2 ■ That’s a good name 13
3 ■ The API: Let’s talk 32
4 ■ The object of conversation 48
5 ■ Exceptional events 73

PART 2 FIELDWORK ................................................................... 87

6 ■ Sharing with the internet 89
7 ■ Doing it with style 113
8 ■ Do I know you? Authentication 148
9 ■ What can you do? Authorization 172
10 ■ Persistence is good: Databases 191
11 ■ I’ve got something to say 214
12 ■ Are we there yet? 242

vi

Upload by >> dr-notes.com

 contents
foreword xiii
preface xv
acknowledgments xvii
about this book xix
about the author xxiii
about the cover illustration xxiv

1 Becoming a Pythonista
1.1 Commitment to learning 2
1

1.2 Reaching goals 3

Thinking like a developer 3 ■
Building applications 3
1.3 Using Python 4
Programming paradigms 4 Creating maintainable code 5
■

Performance 6 The language community 7 Developer

■ ■

tooling 8
1.4 Selecting which Python version to use 9
1.5 Closing thoughts 9

PART 1 GROUNDWORK .............................................. 11

2 That’s a good name

2.1 Names 14
13

Naming things 15 ■
Naming experiment 17

vii
viii CONTENTS

2.2 Namespaces 20
2.3 Python namespaces 21
Built-ins level 21 Module level 22 Function level
■ ■
25
Namespace scope 26 Namespace experiment 28
■

3 The API: Let’s talk

3.1
32
Starting a conversation 33
A contract between pieces of code 34 ■
What’s passed as input 35
What’s expected as output 37
3.2 Function API 39
Naming 39 Parameters 40 Return value 42
■ ■

Single responsibility 43 Function length 44

■

Idempotence 44 Side effects 44

■

3.3 Documentation 45
3.4 Closing thoughts 46

4 The object of conversation

4.1 Object-oriented programming (OOP)
48
49
Class definition 49 Drawing with class
■
51 ■
Inheritance 60
Polymorphism 67 Composition 68
■

4.2 Closing thoughts 72

5 Exceptional events
5.1 Exceptions 75
73

5.2 Handling exceptions 77

Handling an exception if the code can do something about it 77
Allowing exceptions to flow upward in your programs 78
Informing the user 78 Never silence an exception 78
■

5.3 Raising an exception 81

5.4 Creating your own exceptions 82
5.5 Closing thoughts 84

PART 2 FIELDWORK ................................................... 87

6 Sharing with the internet

6.1 Sharing your work 90
89

Web application advantages 90 ■

Web application
challenges 90

Upload by >> dr-notes.com

 CONTENTS ix

6.2 Servers 91
Request-response model 92
6.3 Web servers 93
6.4 Flask 95
Why Flask? 95 Your first web server 96
■ ■
Serving
content 98 More Jinja2 features 101
■

6.5 Running the web server 110

Gunicorn 111 ■
Commercial hosting 111
6.6 Closing thoughts 112

7 Doing it with style

7.1 Application styling 114
113

Creating appealing styles 114 Styling consistency 114

■

Normalizing styles 114 ■

Responsive design 115
7.2 Integrating Bootstrap 115
The previous example, now with Bootstrap 116
7.3 Helping MyBlog grow 123
The Flask app instance 123
7.4 Namespaces 127
Flask Blueprints 128 Add Blueprints to MyBlog 128
■

Create the about page 131 Refactored app instance 133

■

7.5 Navigation 133

Creating navigation information 133 Displaying navigation
■

information 134 MyBlog’s current look 135

■

7.6 Application configuration 136

Configuration files 137 ■
Private information 137
7.7 Flask Debug Toolbar 137
FlaskDynaConf 138
7.8 Logging information 141
Configuration 142
7.9 Adding a favicon 144
7.10 Closing thoughts 146

8 Do I know you? Authentication

8.1 The HTTP protocol is stateless
148
149
Sessions 149
x CONTENTS

8.2 Remembering someone 150

Authentication 150 ■
Logging in 158
8.3 News flash 163
Improving the login form 164
8.4 Making new friends 166
Auth Blueprint 167 ■
New user form 168 ■
Oh yeah: logging
out 170
8.5 What’s next 171

9 What can you do? Authorization

9.1 Login/logout navigation 172
172

9.2 Confirming new friends 174

Sending email 174
9.3 Resetting passwords 179
9.4 User profiles 182
9.5 Security 183
Protecting routes 184
9.6 User authorization roles 184
Creating the roles 185 ■
Authorizing routes 187
9.7 Protecting forms 189
9.8 Closing thoughts 189

10 Persistence is good: Databases

10.1 The other half 192
191

Maintaining information over time 192

10.2 Accessing data 192
10.3 Database systems 198
Tables 198 Relationships 199 Transaction database
■ ■
201
Structured query language: SQL 202
10.4 SQLite as the database 204
10.5 SQLAlchemy 205
Benefits 205
10.6 Modeling the database 206
Defining the classes 206
10.7 Creating and using the database 209

Upload by >> dr-notes.com

 CONTENTS xi

Adding data 209 ■

Using the data 211
10.8 Closing thoughts 213

11 I’ve got something to say

11.1 MyBlog posts 215
214

Modeling the database 215

11.2 Change of direction 217
11.3 Content Blueprint 218
11.4 Displaying and creating posts 218
Display handler 218 ■
Display template 219
11.5 Creating posts 220
Creation handler 220 ■
Creation form 221 ■
Creation
template 221
11.6 Displaying and editing a post 222
Display handler 223 Display template 223 Update
■ ■

handler 226 Update form 226 Update template 227

■ ■

11.7 Content to comment hierarchy 228

Modifying the post class 230 ■
Display handler 231
Display template 233
11.8 Creating comments 234
Creation template 234 ■
Creation form 236 ■
Creation
handler 236
11.9 Notifying users 237
11.10 Handling site errors 238
11.11 Closing thoughts 241

12 Are we there yet?

12.1 Testing 243
242

Unit testing 243 Functional testing 244 End-to-end

■ ■

testing 244 Integration testing 244 Load testing 244

■ ■

Performance testing 244 Regression testing 244 Accessibility

■ ■

testing 245 Acceptance testing 245

■

12.2 Debugging 245

Reproducing bugs 245 Breakpoints 246 Logging 246
■ ■

Bad results 246 ■

Process of elimination 247 Rubber-ducking ■

the problem 247

12.3 Tools 247
xii CONTENTS

Source control 247 Optimization 248

■ ■
Containers 248
Databases 249 Languages 249
■

12.4 OS environments 250

12.5 Cloud computing 250
12.6 Networking 251
12.7 Collaboration 251
12.8 Closing thoughts 251

appendix A Your development environment 253

index 263

Upload by >> dr-notes.com

 foreword
We marvel at the modern creations of very experienced software developers. Insta-
gram is a polished and beautiful experience, whereas YouTube dwarfs even the largest
television audiences, and it still feels like you’re the only user on the system. Both You-
Tube and Instagram have Python at their core.
When you first get started in programming, it’s easy to look at the challenge ahead
and see a towering mountain. Fortunately, you don’t have to climb a mountain in a
single bound, just as you don’t have to become a confident Python developer all at
once. Software development does not require you to be a genius. You don’t need to be
a mathematical wiz. Becoming a good software developer requires a strong sense of
curiosity and a lot of persistence.
You don’t have to take my word for it. Guido van Rossum, the inventor of Python,
was interviewed for the Sing for Science podcast:

Host: And you don’t have to have a mathematical inclination?

Guido: That’s correct. Some sort of an inclination towards logical thinking

and an attention to details is much more important than math.

So if programming is not centered on math, then what do you need to be successful?

You need thousands of small and understandable building blocks. Like climbing a
mountain with many small steps and lots of persistence, you build YouTube by solving
thousands of small and easily understandable computer problems with a few lines of
understandable code.
How do you discover these building blocks? You can bounce around the internet
and programming tutorials, piecing them together yourself, or, like mountain climb-
ing, you could hire a guide. Doug Farrell and this book of his are your guides.

xiii
xiv FOREWORD

Here, you will learn many building blocks. You will learn the importance of nam-
ing things clearly. The function get_blog_post_by_id doesn’t need additional details
to communicate its role, does it? You’ll see how to group your code into reusable
blocks with functions. You will build forms to display a UI on the web with Python and
Flask. You’ll use Python’s SQLAlchemy database package to read and write data from
a database without the need to understand SQL (the language of relational data-
bases).
In the end, you’ll have a practical and real-world application built out of these
many building blocks. It’ll be a fun journey, and the code will be a great resource to
pull examples and ideas from as you grow in your software development career. With
Doug and this book as your guides, you’ll keep climbing and, before you know it,
you’ll be on the summit.

Michael Kennedy is a Python enthusiast and entrepreneur. He’s the host of the Talk Python To
Me and Python Bytes podcasts. Michael founded Talk Python Training and is a Python Soft-
ware Foundation Fellow based in Portland, Oregon.

Upload by >> dr-notes.com

 preface
I’ve worked at many interesting and varied jobs in my life and have been fortunate
enough to be a software developer for almost 40 years. In that time, I’ve learned and
worked with quite a few programming languages—Pascal, Fortran, C, C++, Visual
Basic, PHP, Python, and JavaScript—and applied these languages to work in quite a
few industries. Using all these languages and having these experiences taught me a
great deal.
C taught me how to use—and certainly abuse—pointers and gave me a thirst to
optimize my applications for speed. C++ taught me about object-oriented program-
ming (OOP), a way of thinking in which I’m still firmly rooted. PHP was my first expo-
sure to a scripting language, and it taught me that maybe it was okay not to manage
everything, like memory, myself. PHP also brought with it my first dive into web devel-
opment and the nascent ideas of browsers as an application platform.
It’s been almost two decades since I discovered Python, and it has been my sweet
spot for application development ever since. The language helped to crystalize the
vague thoughts I had about development, the idea that there should be one obvious
way to do things. Being able to use multiple concepts about development—like OOP,
procedural, and functional programming—all in the same language is very valuable.
A language can be relatively easy to learn and expressive, and yet seemingly have no
ceiling on the kinds of problems it can be used to solve.
Because I was excited about Python, I wanted to promote it and encourage others
to jump on board. This led me to give presentations and teach classes within the orga-
nizations where I worked. I also had the chance to teach Python at a STEM facility near
my hometown to kids aged 8 to 16. It’s a tossup which way the lessons were actually
going, as I learned a lot from the kids in the class. Each class taught me more about how
to present material in a more accessible way. It was apparent when something I was

xv
xvi PREFACE

teaching was working or not by how hard I had to work to keep the kids from switching
over to Minecraft on their laptops.
For the presentations and class work, I was writing my own Python material. I
wanted to do more of this, which led to writing articles for RealPython.com. I wrote
several well-received articles for the site, which was gratifying. Those articles were how
I connected with Manning. An acquisitions editor reached out to me, and we talked
about writing a Python book for them and what that would look like.
The result of those conversations is this book, which will help you along your jour-
ney to becoming a developer. Python is a wonderful, expressive, and enjoyable tool to
bring with you. I’ve enjoyed the journey for a long time and am still doing so. That is
my goal for the book, and I hope this book helps you reach your goals.

Upload by >> dr-notes.com

 acknowledgments
I’ve worked hard to make this book an informative, as well as enjoyable, read. But if it
is any of these things, it’s because of the people who have contributed to its creation.
Many people at Manning Publishing helped bring this book into existence. The
acquisitions editor who approached me to write a book, the production people who
helped shape it, the reviewers who helped refine it, and my development editors who
helped me every step of the way. They helped me navigate the many facets of writing
and publishing a book, and I enjoyed many conversations with them that kept me on
track through the process.
To all the reviewers: Alejandro Guerra Manzanares, Amanda Debler, Angelo Costa,
Bernard Fuentes, Bhagvan Kommadi, Brandon Friar, Chad Miars, Christopher Kar-
dell, Dan Sheikh, Danilo Abrignani, Deshuang Tang, Dhinakaran Venkat, Dirk
Gomez, Eder Andres Avila Niño, Eli Mayost, Eric Chiang, Ernest Addae, Evyatar Kaf-
kafi, Ezra Schroeder, Félix Moreno, Francisco Rivas, Frankie Thomas-Hockey, Ganesh
Swaminathan, Garry Alan Offord, Gustavo Gomes, Hiroyuki Musha, James J. Byleckie,
James Matlock, Janit Kumar Anjaria, Joaquin Beltran, John Guthrie, John Harbin,
Johnny Hopkins, Jose Apablaza, Joseph Pachod, Joshua A. McAdams, Julien Pohie,
Kamesh Ganesan, Katia Patkin, Keith Anthony, Kelum Prabath Senanayake, Kimberly
Winston-Jackson, Koushik Vikram, Kup Sivam, Lee Harding, Leonardo Taccari, Lev
Veyde, Lúcás Meier, Marc-Anthony Taylor, Marco Carnini, Marcus Geselle, Maria Ana,
Michael Patin, Mike Baran, Mohana Krishna, Muhammad Sohaib Arif, NaveenKumar
Namachivayam, Ninoslav Cerkez, Patrick Regan, Philip Best, Philip Patterson, Rahul
Singh, Raul Murciano, Raymond Cheung, Richard Meinsen, Robert Kulagowski, Rod-
ney Weis, Roman Zhuzha, Romell Ian De La Cruz, Samvid Mistry, Sandeep Dhameja,
Sanjeev Kilarapu, Satej Kumar Sahu, Sergiu Raducu, Shankar Swamy, Stanley Anozie,

xvii
xviii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Stefan Turalski, Teddy Hagos, Vidhya Vinay, and Vitosh Doynov, your suggestions
helped make this a better book.
I also want to thank Samantha Stone, a young editor I only know virtually. Paul
Chayka, the executive director of Robotics & Beyond, a local STEM education center,
introduced me to her. Samantha was a high school member of R&B who volunteered
to review the book while it was in progress. She proved to have outstanding editorial
skills, honest and forthright feedback, and a great source of clarity for what worked
and didn’t in my writing.
I’d also like to thank Carmine Mauriello. He and I have been friends for decades
and colleagues a few times working for the same organizations. Almost from the get-
go, he told me, “You should write a book.” It’s still unclear if this was just his kind way
of trying to get me to stop talking, but Carm, I appreciate the encouragement all the
same. Here, at long last, is that book.
I’d like to thank my mom and dad, both of whom were great writers in their own
right. Mom encouraged (read that as arm-twisted) me to take a typing class in the age
of the IBM Selectric Typewriter. That has proven to be one of the best skills I’ve ever
learned. My dad was a great storyteller who taught me the value of writing simple
declarative sentences. He was also the fastest typist I’d ever seen on an ancient Under-
wood mechanical typewriter.
Lastly, I would like to thank my wife, Susan, whose steady encouragement, unfail-
ing patience, and most of all, love, has made all of this possible.

Upload by >> dr-notes.com

Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
should be having my tea; tea’s far more to me than any dinner, I never was a
great eater, and as for wine, I can’t abide it. A cup of tea and a bit of toast—
that’s what I like. I’ll see to your dinner if you wish, like in your poor
papa’s time, but I can’t change, that’s just the one thing I can’t do.”
“I do not care for dinner,” said Lucy; “I will do whatever you do, it does
not matter to me.”
“If that’s so,” said Mrs. Ford brightening, and she came up to her charge
and kissed her affectionately, “whatever we can get, or whatever we can do
to make you happy, Lucy, you have only to say it: never mind the expense.
If there is one thing you have a fancy for more than another, if it should be
game, or whatever it is, you shall have it. And this room is yours, my pet.
You’ll excuse me sitting here; I think there’s nothing like my parlor; but
when you want me you can always send for me. And here you shall always
find everything kept nice; and as for a cup of tea, whenever you want it— I
shouldn’t wonder if you were kept very short up there.”
Mrs. Ford jerked her thumb over her shoulder by way of indicating
Lucy’s former abode. “I know what fine ladies are,” she said: “a fine
outside and not much within. Horses and carriages and all that show, and
footmen waiting, and silver dishes on the table, but not much inside.”
“Lady Randolph was not like that,” Lucy said faintly. She did not know
whether to laugh or to cry; but her companion took her hesitation as a proof
of the correctness of her own judgment, and was triumphant.
“I know ’em,” she said. “I don’t give myself any airs Lucy, but I know
you’ll find nothing like that here. No show, but everything good, and plenty
of it, and not so much fuss made about you—for we’ve got no ends to
serve, Ford and me—but if there’s a thing you want you shall have it; that is
our way, and I don’t see but what you may be very happy here. Keep all
these folks that will be gathering round you, and making believe to adore
you, at a distance, and keep yourself to yourself, and don’t put your faith in
the Rushtons, nor the Stones, nor any of the Farafield folks; and I don’t see,
Lucy my pet, but what you may be very happy here. And now, my darling,
I’ll go down-stairs and see after the tea.”
Lucy was left alone accordingly, seated in the familiar room, so changed
and transformed, and looking out somewhat drearily upon the common,
which had not changed, which she had crossed so often in those old days
that were never to come back, that could not come back, neither the simple
habits of them, nor the gentle ease of mind and happy ignorance of
everything beyond their quiet round. It was not a cheerful programme
which her present guardian had traced for her, and Lucy, sitting very still,
not caring to move, in the most strangely complete and depressing solitude
which she had ever been conscious of, went further in her thoughts than
Mrs. Ford. Had it all been a mistake? Her father’s favorite theory, his pet
whim about her, his determination to divide her life between the different
worlds of society, one part of it on the higher level, one on the lower, was
that to prove itself at once a hopeless blunder? Lucy felt too much dulled
and stupefied by the sudden change to be able to think about it; a sensation
as of a sudden fall, a precipitate descent down, down, into a world she no
longer understood, pervaded her being. Lady Randolph’s world had not
been a very lofty one; was it possible that it was the mere external change
from one kind of house to another, from a companion who dressed with
exquisite taste to one who huddled on her common clothes anyhow, and
wore crape flowers in her bonnet; from old, soft, mossy Turkey carpets to
brilliant modern Brussels, that gave her this sensation of downfall? Lucy
did not ask herself the question, nor did it even suggest itself in any formal
way to her mind, only a vague sense of the impossibility of the return, the
radical change in all things, the space she had traversed which could not be
gone back, overwhelmed her vaguely. If it had been a poor country cottage,
a rustic farm-house, real poverty to contrast with the soft surroundings of
wealth, the contrast might have been salutary, and it might have been
natural. But the Terrace was nothing but a vulgar, unintelligent copy of the
house she had come from, the life set before her now was but a poor
imitation of that she had left, but narrowed and limited and shut in, cut off
by jealous precautions from all the human fellowship that made the other
attractive. Ford and his wife, in their little stuffy parlor, at their teatable,
eating their toast and their shrimps, were as respectable in themselves as
Lady Randolph at the head of the pretty table covered with flowers, softly
lighted, and noiselessly served. Probably they were more honest, more
strictly sincere, than she, and their love for Lucy was a very genuine love,
more profound than her easy affections. But how was it? Lucy could not tell
—to step down all in a moment from Lady Randolph to the Fords was
something incomprehensible and impossible. She could not go back these
six months, the new life had claimed her; she was not capable of resuming
the old where she had left it off. This feeling humiliated and depressed her,
she could not tell how or why. Had they been living in a little cottage in the
country, had they been quite poor, so that she should have had homely
services to do for them, help to give, that would have been practicable; but
to come back to the Terrace with her maid, and her horse, and her groom,
and her new habits, to have all the indulgences without any of the graces of
existence! Lucy sat sadly in the pink room, all newly bedizened and fine,
dressed out by ignorance and kindness for her pleasure, but not pleasing her
at all, and pondered, dreary and down-hearted. Was it possible that papa
himself had not understood? that he did not know what the real differences
were, but had made to himself some picture of extravagant splendor on the
one side, to be tempered by the Fords and their respectable parlor on the
other? Alas! Lucy felt more and more, as she reflected, that poor papa did
not understand. It made her heart sore to sit in the place where he had sat,
and to contemplate this, and to feel that perhaps, as Sir Thomas had said, to
follow out all those regulations of his, which she had thought a happiness
and consolation, might turn out nothing less than a bondage. Everything
seemed somewhat blank before her, as she sat thus solitary. She knew the
routine so well, there was no margin of the unexpected, no novelty to carry
her on. She had been so deep in thought that she had not felt a pull at her
dress several times repeated. At last Jock could have patience no longer.
“I say,” he cried, looking up from his old position upon the great white
rug, “Lucy, it is not any good to think.”
Lucy was not greatly given to that exercise of thinking, and, to tell the
truth, she had not found it to be of very much use.
“What makes you say so, Jock?”
“Oh, because I have tried—often,” said the little fellow; “before we went
away from here, and after, when I went to school. It’s no good, you never
find out anything; you wonder and wonder, but you never know any better.
Do you think now,” said Jock, with a gleam of moisture in his eyes, “that he
ever sees us now, or hears what we are talking about? I wonder—often—”
“I—hope so, Jock,” said Lucy; but as she remembered what she had just
been thinking she faltered a little, and was not so sure that this was
desirable, as in the abstract it seemed to be.
“I wonder,” said the little boy—thoughts such as had filled her mind had
perhaps been vaguely floating across his firmament also. “I wonder—if he
would miss his funny old table and his big blue paper if he were to come
back now.”
“He has now something better; we will not think of that any longer,” said
Lucy, drying her wet eyes.
“But we have got to think of it,” said Jock, reflectively contradicting
himself; “that is funny, everything is funny. There is Aunty Ford at the foot
of the stairs calling us to go down to tea.”
 CHAPTER XXX.

HOME AND FRIENDS.

That very evening, notwithstanding her supposed fatigue, the little world of
Farafield was roused to welcome Lucy. The rector and his wife, going out
for a drive in the cool of the evening, drew up their pony at the door, and
left a card and their kind regards, and hoped Miss Trevor was not tired with
her journey; and a little later, when Lucy and Jock were preparing to stroll
out as they had been in the habit of doing, upon the common, they were
stopped by a visit from Mrs. Rushton and her son and daughter. “We always
come out after dinner in the hot weather,” the visitor explained, “and it is so
delightful to have an object for our walk. I hope you have had a good rest,
my dear. What a pleasure,” said Mrs. Rushton, taking Lucy’s hands in hers,
and looking at her with enthusiasm, “to see you at home again and looking
so well!”
Lucy was confused by the warmth and effusion of this unexpected
greeting. Her guardian’s wife had never taken much notice of her in the old
days; but she was pleased at the same time, for affection is always pleasant,
and it was agreeable to find that she had more friends than she was aware
of. Raymond, of whom she remembered nothing, except that she had seen
him at the railway station, was an ordinary young man, still in his morning
suit, by license of the summer, and the after-dinner walk; and wholly
undistinguishable from any other young man in that universal garb. He said,
“How d’ye do?” and taking his right hand out of his pocket, presented it to
her, not without embarrassment. Lucy gave it him back at once with a great
inclination to laugh. She felt herself a great deal older, and more
experienced than Raymond, though he was two-and-twenty and had taken
his degree.
“I hope you will not find Farafield dull,” said Mrs. Rushton; “we must
do what we can to make you like us, Lucy. Have you seen a good deal of
society in town? Oh, I know you could not go out; but Lady Randolph is
always having company. I suppose you would meet her nephew, Sir
Thomas. I hear he is expected at the Hall.”
 “Yes,” said Lucy. “He is on his way to Scotland. He came down here
with us to-day.”
“Oh, he is on his way to Scotland? Isn’t this a little out of the way to
Scotland, Ray? I know when we went we had to go a hundred miles round,
your father said, to get to that big junction; but we can’t always calculate on
Sir Thomas. He is a gay deceiver; with that jolly laugh of his, didn’t you
quite fall in love with him, Lucy? I always say he is the most dangerous
man I know.”
“I like him very much,” Lucy said.
“And so does Ray. He is quite captivating to young people. He has
always been so kind to Ray. One forgets the little stories that are current
about him when one comes under the spell. Did you like his aunt equally
well, Lucy? Opinions are divided on that score.”
“She was very kind to me,” said Lucy; “no one ever took so much care
of me. She did not talk of it, but one felt all round one—”
“But still you did not care for her? That is what I have always heard—
very kind, and that sort of thing; but not attractive.”
“Indeed, I am very fond of Lady Randolph,” Lucy said, with a flush of
annoyance. Her visitor laughed and coughed, confused and disconcerted,
though Lucy could not tell why.
“Oh, I only say what I have heard!” she said. “I don’t know much of her
myself. Sir Thomas is the only member of the family whom I know; and I
always frankly admit I think him charming—whatever may be his little
faults.”
All this time Raymond stood swaying about from one leg to another,
with his hands in his pockets. He had received the best of educations, as his
mother proudly declared; but this had not conferred ease of manner or
social grace. Lucy could not help longing that he would sit down; but it
seemed to be against the young man’s principles. He stood between her and
the window, swaying about like a cloud upon the wind, but solid enough to
shut out the light. Miss Rushton was a very big girl of sixteen in short
frocks, who kept half behind her mother, and took shelter under her wing.
“And what are you going to do, my dear, now you have come back? I
hope we shall see a great deal of you. You will find yourself a little lost here
just for the first The Fords are excellent people, but you will find yourself a
little lost. You must run over to us whenever you feel dull. To-morrow there
is some croquet going on—are you fond of croquet? You must come early
and have a game, and stay to dinner. In this hot weather we never dress for
dinner, for we always have a walk in the cool of the evening. Is that a
bargain?” said Mrs. Rushton graciously. “And you must bring little Jock.
Do you walk with him as you used to do, Lucy? I think, as a girl, you were
the very best sister in the world.”
“Jock and I ride,” said Lucy; “he was always fond of riding. Lady
Randolph sent the horses and the groom, and Jock’s pony. She thought I
might have them here.”
“Certainly, Lucy,” Mrs. Rushton said, with many nods of her head. “That
I am sure your guardians would approve. And what a lucky thing for you,
Ray! Now you can get up all sorts of delightful parties. Emmy is beginning
to ride very nicely too, and you like it, don’t you, dear? They will be so glad
to join. I am so delighted to have found something in which you can all
join.”
“It will be very jolly,” said Raymond. That and “How d’ye do?” was all
that he contributed to the conversation. And Emmy said nothing at all,
except, in shy murmurs of assent, and stifled explosions of laughter when
her mother said anything she thought amusing. The two young people
preceded Mrs. Rushton down-stairs when she had said all she had to say;
but she came back again, once more seized Lucy’s two hands, and added a
parting word in her ear.
“I see that friend of yours, that Mrs. Stone, coming this way. She is very
well in her own place, Lucy; oh, very nice! I thought she behaved badly to
me about Emmy; but that is neither here nor there. Everybody speaks very
highly of her—in her own place. But you must not let her get you into her
hands, dear. She is dreadfully managing, and by hook or by crook she will
have her own way. But you are in a different sphere altogether. Don’t
forget, my dear Lucy, that you are in a different sphere. I felt that I must just
say this. You know what an interest I take in you. Dear child!” said Mrs.
Rushton with enthusiasm, giving Lucy a sudden and tender kiss of
irrestrainable feeling; “who would not take an interest in you, so young and
so nice and so lonely? Till to-morrow, dear—”
Mrs. Stone met Mrs. Rushton going down. “So it is true that Lucy has
come back,” said that able tactician. “I heard a rumor, and was coming to
inquire, when they told me she was here.”
 “Just come. My husband being her guardian, I felt that she had a special
claim upon me, poor dear child. I am afraid she is tired with her journey,
and agitated with all the associations. I have only been there a moment; I
would not stay. I felt it was kindness to postpone a longer visit.”
“Thank you for the hint,” said Mrs. Stone, calmly pursuing her way
upstairs; and she too took Lucy into her arms, if not with enthusiasm, yet
with the most affectionate interest; she kissed her, and then held her at
arm’s length, and looked into her face, “You are very welcome back, my
dear,” she said, “but, Lucy, there is something new in your face.”
“Is there?” said Lucy faintly. “I am a little tired; and then there are so
many other things that are new.”
Mrs. Stone looked round the room, with such disdain of the shop
upholstery as was natural to a woman who possessed a parlor furnished
with Chippendales. She said, “Ah, I see they have been doing something
here;” then added, “Lucy, you must not trifle with me; it is not that. But,”
she said, “your hat is on the table; you were going out? it is a sweet
evening, and we can talk just as well on the common. Come, and we will
discuss the whole matter out of doors.”
Lucy was grateful to be released, for the night was warm, and Jane, Mrs.
Ford’s maid, had come up with a taper in her hand, and was threatening to
light the gas. Mrs. Ford was determined that Lucy should want for nothing,
and no consideration of time or season was permitted to interfere with the
proper hours for doing everything in this well-regulated house. Therefore,
though it was somewhat late for Jock, Lucy put on her hat gratefully, and
suffered her hand to be drawn through the arm of her considerate friend,
and drew a long and grateful breath as she got out upon the breezy sweep of
the common, which even in the twilight showed a faint flush of the heather.
“How sweet it is! this is the one thing which is unchanged,” she said.
“Do you find the place changed, Lucy?”
“Perhaps it is me, Mrs. Stone.”
“You should say I, my love. Yes, no doubt it is you, Lucy. It could not be
otherwise; you have been in so different a sphere, and how could you help
feeling it? I think I can understand you. Lady Randolph is—well, I don’t
know what she is. I confess that I have a little prejudice against her.”
“Indeed, you should not have any prejudice,” said Lucy earnestly; “she
is so good and so kind—oh, far too good and kind for anything I deserve.”
 “Yes,” said Mrs. Stone with a smile. “I understand; a woman with a great
deal of tact, Lucy, who knows what is best for you, and takes her measures
accordingly; oh, yes, I am quite sure Lady Randolph is highly refined, and a
thorough lady, and would do nothing that was unbecoming, whereas our
good Mrs. Ford is just— Mrs. Ford, and a very good woman. I think it
would have been better, Lucy—we have all our little vanities—if your
excellent father had sent you to me.”
“Yes,” said Lucy with a sigh; but there was no enthusiasm in the assent.
Mrs. Stone was slightly disappointed. She gave the girl’s arm a soft
pressure.
“You must let us help you to get through this second beginning: things
will never be so bad again. You will get used to the alteration, and your
interests will spring up. What are you doing about little Jock, my dear?”
“Nothing,” said Lucy; “he is still so little, and I have no one else. Do you
think, really, I ought to send him, such a little fellow, away from me to
some real school? He was at Mrs. Russell’s, but that was not like a real
school, and I went to see him whenever I liked.”
“Ah! perhaps too often,” said Mrs. Stone, with another pressure of her
young friend’s arm. “I have something to say about that after. But, Lucy,
listen. I will tell you what I was thinking. Frank St. Clair, whom you may
remember, my nephew, is coming to stay with me again. He is not very
well, poor fellow! I will tell you his story some time. He has been
unfortunate.”
“He who was so kind, who came to see papa?”
“Your father interested him so much, dear! He used to come back and
tell me all the clever acute things he said. Yes, Frank St. Clair. This is one of
my disappointments, Lucy, Frank was the pride of all our family. We all
seemed to have a share in him; his father died young, his mother was poor,
and we all helped. He was the cleverest boy I ever saw. At school he was
extraordinary; no one could stand against him, and you can imagine how
proud we all were. Am I boring you with my story, Lucy?”
“How could you think so? I am like Jock about a story; there is nothing I
like so much, especially if at the end there is was anything—anything that
could be done.”
“I don’t know what you could do, my dear,” Mrs. Stone said, with a
smile, “but your sympathy is sweet. He was not quite so successful at the
University, there is such competition, but still he did very well, and also in
his work at the bar. For he is a barrister,” said Mrs. Stone, with a thrill of
pride in her voice, “he has been called, and was just at the beginning of his
career, when his health failed. Can you imagine such a disappointment,
such a commentary upon the vicissitudes of life! Just when he was in a
position to justify all our hopes his health gave way.”
“I am so sorry,” Lucy looked up at her friend with the profoundest pity
in her blue eyes, but something else besides, a spark of hidden interest, the
gleam with which an explorer’s eyes shine when he finds some new sphere
of discovery, a new world to conquer. Lucy had not been very happy in her
first venture, but she jumped at the thought of a second venture, if it might
be found practicable. It was she now who pressed Mrs. Stone’s arm,
clinging closely to it “I am so sorry! I hope he may soon get better. Is there
nothing that could be done?”
“Rest is all he wants, my dear, rest and a relief from anxiety, and
something to do quietly, that will not strain him. As soon as I knew you
were coming back I immediately thought of Jock. Poor Frank is very
independent; he would be less unhappy if he had something to do. And it is
providential for you, for Jock must begin to have something done for his
education; I consider it quite providential for you.”
“If Mr. St. Clair would be so kind. But would he like it, a gentleman, and
a lawyer, and so clever?” said Lucy, puzzled. “Jock is such a little, little
fellow.”
“He will take Jock,” said Mrs. Stone, with tranquil assurance. “He would
not take any little boy, of course, but Jock is exceptional, Jock is your
brother, and you know my interest in you, Lucy. Yes, my dear, do not be
afraid, Frank will take Jock. And now that this is settled—and I wanted to
make your mind easy on the subject—let us talk of other things. What is all
this story about the Russells, Lucy? You have not allowed Bertie to—he has
not, I hope, really acquired any— It is so difficult to speak to you on such a
subject, but you know I am a kind of guardian too. I should not approve of
Bertie Russell. I could never give my consent—”
“To what?” said Lucy, with great surprise. “Is it about his book, Mrs.
Stone? It was not my fault, indeed, it was not any one’s fault. I suppose he
never thought that people would take any notice. It was just a mistake, a
foolish thing to do. I think even Lady Randolph, though she was so angry,
got to see that at last.”
“Then there is nothing more, Lucy; you can assure me, on your word,
that there is nothing more?”
Lucy was more surprised than ever.
“What should there be more?” she said.
Mrs. Stone laughed, and made no reply.
“So Lady Randolph was angry,” she said. “I don’t wonder; so was I. We
all have the same feeling toward you, Lucy,” and here Mrs. Stone laughed
again, evidently perceiving a humorous aspect of the question which was
unknown to Lucy. “We are all so—fond of you, my dear. Did you see much
of the Randolph family when you were there?”
“Only Sir Tom.”
“Only Sir Tom! that makes you smile. By the way, he is all the Randolph
family, I believe: and he is nice, Lucy? I have met him, and I thought him
very pleasant; but he has not a very good character, I am afraid. He has been
what people call wild; but now that he is getting old, no doubt he is
mending his ways.”
Mrs. Stone gave Lucy a keen glance of inquiry as she said this; but as a
matter of fact, Lucy at eighteen honestly thought Sir Thomas old, and made
no protest, which satisfied her friend. She said, after a pause,
“Now I have a pleasant surprise to give you. Katie Russell is here; I am
looking for a situation for her. She has finished her education, and I wish to
place her in a thoroughly nice family.”
“Oh,” cried Lucy, with pained surprise, “I thought that Mrs. Russell— I
thought that now they were all to be at home.”
“Since she came into that money? Oh, no, it is not enough for that;
besides, even if it were more than it is, Katie ought to do something to make
a life for herself. It was a great godsend, the money, but it is not enough for
any great change in their life.”
“I thought—it was enough to live on,” said Lucy, feeling a great flush of
shame come over her face. It had not given her much satisfaction in any
way, but to hear that it was a failure altogether struck her a very keen and
unexpected blow.
 “Oh, no, my dear, no,” said Mrs. Stone, all unaware of Lucy’s interest in
the matter; “a pittance! merely enough to give them a little more comfort,
joined to what they have.”
Lucy went home rather subdued after this interview. She did not see
Katie, who was out with Miss Southwood, and she was rather glad to
escape that meeting. She called Jock back from his wanderings among the
heather, and led him home, with his little arms twined round hers. Lucy felt
very much subdued, perhaps because she was tired. She drew little Jock
very close to her, and felt something like the twilight dimness stealing into
her mind.
“Are you tired?” she said; “you ought to be in bed. I think I am tired too;
Jock, are you glad to be at home?”
“I don’t know if it’s home,” said Jock, looking up at her with his big
eyes.
“Neither do I,” said Lucy drearily. “But it is all we have for home,” she
added, with a sigh. “Anyhow, it is you and me, Jock; things can not be so
very bad so long as there is you and me.”
To this Jock assented with a reservation.
“I suppose I shall have to go to school, Lucy; all the other fellows go to
school.”
“I have got a tutor for you, dear; you will not have to go away. Mr. St.
Clair, that used to come and see papa. It is providential, Mrs. Stone says.”
“What, that fat fellow in the black coat? I don’t mind,” said Jock. “I
think he is a duffer, he’s so fat; but I don’t mind. You don’t know what that
means, Lucy.”
“You should not say such naughty words; that is what you learned at
school,” said Lucy, with disapproval. “I don’t think you learned anything
else there.”
“Duffer is not a naughty word: it means just nothing; but I don’t mind
him at all,” said Jock, with indulgence. He was quite willing to undergo the
experiment. “I should like to have another try,” he said.
When they got to the house it was as dark as an August evening ever is,
and Mrs. Ford, with a candle in her hand, was beginning to fasten up the
windows and doors. She had again put on her stern aspect, and looked very
severe and solemn, as she followed them upstairs. “It is a great deal too late
for that child,” she said. “He ought to have been in bed an hour ago. So you
have had visitors, Lucy? I think they might have been so civil as to ask for
me. After all, though the house may be kept for your convenience, it’s me
that am the mistress of it. And I expect civility, if there’s nothing more to be
looked for. I do expect that.”
“I am very sorry, Aunt Ford.”
“You must be something more than sorry. You must let them see you
won’t stand it. As for that Mrs. Rushton, I think she is insufferable. She
wants to keep you in her set. And Raymond, what does he want here the
first evening? You never knew Ray Rushton; whatever they may say, don’t
you put any faith in them, Lucy. She’s a designing woman; and I mistrust
her, bringing her son the first day.”
“You tell me to put no faith in Mrs. Rushton, and she tells me to beware
of Mrs. Stone, and they both shake their heads about Lady Randolph,” said
Lucy, with a smile that was not happy. “If I am to do what you all tell me,
don’t you think, Aunt Ford, I shall be very lonely? for these are all the
friends I have.”
“My pet,” said Mrs. Ford, “don’t you be afraid; you’ll get friends in
plenty; friends always turn up for a girl who is—a good girl,” she added,
after a momentary pause. Perhaps she had not intended originally to
conclude her sentence in this simple and highly moral way.
 CHAPTER XXXI.

CHANGED.

Lucy spent two or three days after this in comparative solitude. Her friends,
both the Rushtons and Mrs. Stone, agreed in feeling that it would be
indecorous to make any rush at her. It was a suggestion forced upon each of
them by the too great eagerness of the other, and both concluded that it
would be well to adopt a more dignified course, and to leave her to herself
for the moment. Katie Russell had gone on a visit of two or three days’
duration, and Lucy found herself thus at full liberty to realize her loneliness.
The weather, as it happened, was very hot, and Jock and she were shut up
for the greater part of the day in the glaring room, where there was no
provision for very hot weather, no sun-blinds or shutters, but everything
open to the blazing sun in the day, and all lighted up with blazing gas at
night. When after those long and weary days, little Jock went tired and
cross to bed, unwilling to go, yet glad to get the day over, his sister sat
alone in the pink drawing-room in the unshadowed flood of the gaslight,
and thought with the tenderest longing of all she had left behind, and with a
sinking at her heart beyond describing, of all that was before her. The Fords
were in their parlor below, which they preferred, he reading his paper, she
mending stockings tranquilly, at the table with its oil-cloth cover. Lucy had
not required any derangement of their habits. She sat with them meekly at
table, without asking for anything beyond what they chose to give her; but
she had found at once that, after the repast was over, she was expected to
return to her own luxurious apartment, the room which they were proudly
conscious had cost more than any other room in Farafield, not to speak of
the trouble that had been taken over it, and in which there was a piano and
books, and all the things with which girls are supposed to be amused. Lucy
had been called upon by two of the most important people in Farafield, she
had taken several walks and one ride, and many substantial meals had been
set before her at their comfortable table; what could any girl in her senses
want more? And now she had that beautiful drawing-room to return to,
where there was provision for both mind and body, sofas to repose upon
and a piano to play, and books to read, and where she could certainly gratify
herself with the consciousness of being mistress of a room which had not its
equal in Farafield. Mrs. Ford saw no reason why she should give up her
own evening leisure, the purring quiet of that final hour before bed-time,
when she sat content after supper was over, and all the affairs of the day
concluded. She did her duty by Lucy. She bought sweetbreads, and other
delicacies, instead of the beefsteak which was so much cheaper, and which
Ford liked just as well as the greatest dainty. She spared no expense upon
her guest. She was ready to give her a cup of tea half a dozen times a day.
She had planned a variety of puddings, that there might be something
different at every meal; and, to conclude, she had given Lucy the best of
advice. What could she be expected to do more?
But Lucy sat very disconsolate in front of the shining steel fire-place
filled up with shavings, amid that blaze of gas, without even the little stir of
a fire which might have given companionship at another season. She felt
like a stranded sailor, like some one shipwrecked on a very clean, bright,
polished desert island, where, however, there was not even the consolation
of struggling for your living to keep you alive. She pondered all things that
had happened, and that were going to happen. It had given her a painful
sensation to hear Mrs. Stone speak of the Russells, and of the money which
had come to them, which was just enough to enable them to live in comfort,
as Lucy had intended. Had that been a failure, that first effort? And then she
thought of the new claimant, the poor gentleman whom Mrs. Stone had
hoped might be lord chancellor one day, and who was only able to be tutor
to Jock. Surely it would be a right thing to give him enough to remove
anxiety, as Mrs. Stone had said. And this time Lucy thought she would take
care that there was enough, that no one should say it was a pittance. This
idea made her face glow with as much shame as if she had cheated these
poor people, to whom she had meant to be kind. How was she to know what
was enough? especially for a gentleman. Oh, Lucy thought, if I could but
ask some one! If some one would but tell me! But who was there whom she
could consult on such a subject? Her guardians, instead of helping her,
would certainly do all they could to hinder. They would put every kind of
obstacle in her way. Instead of aiding her to make her calculations and
ascertain how much was wanted, they would beat her down to the last
penny, and try to persuade her that half of what she wanted to give would
do. How difficult was this commission she held, this office of dispenser,
almoner of posthumous bounty! Oh, if her father had but done it himself! he
was old, he had experience, he must have known much better than she
could know. But here Lucy stopped short and bethought herself of the
conclusion that had been forced upon her, that poor papa did not
understand. The world in which her timid footsteps were finding out
painfully unaccustomed tracks was one of which even his keen eyes had not
found out the conditions. In her stumblings and gropings she had already
discovered more than his threescore and ten years of keen, imperfect theory
had taught him. And now it was her part to suffer all the inconveniences and
vexations which in his ignorance he had fixed upon her life. It never
occurred to Lucy to make any effort to escape from them, or even to remain
quiescent and refrain from doing the difficult things he had left her to do.
She was determined to execute his will in every detail. Should she die even
of this ennui and loneliness, she would yet bear it until the appointed
moment; and, though she might have no more success than with the
Russells, still she must flounder on. If she could only find somebody to help
her, to give her a little guidance, to tell her how much, not how little, she
ought to give? There was one indeed who might be a help to her, who
would understand. But was it possible that even Sir Tom had deserted her?
Three days, and he had not come to see her? At this thought there came into
Lucy’s eyes something that felt very like a tear.
This, however, was the last of these silent days. In the morning Katie
Russell burst upon her, all radiant with pleasure. “Oh, what a lucky girl you
are!” Katie cried; “you have got all we used to talk of, Lucy, I never thought
it would come true; but here you are, just looking the same as ever, though
you have been living among swells; and come down to dazzle us all at
Farafield, with beautiful horses, and heaps of money, and everybody after
you. To think that all this should have happened to you, and nothing at all to
me!”
Lucy did not like her friend’s tone. What had come over her that
everything seemed to hurt her? “I don’t think very much has happened to
me,” she said. “What has happened was all before I left here.”
Katie shook her head and her curly locks till she had almost shaken them
off. “I know a great deal more than you think. I know what you were doing
in London, and how you went riding about, and turning people’s heads.
What a lucky girl you are, with everything that heart can desire! I don’t
envy you, not wicked envy, because you are always as good as gold, and
never give yourself airs; but you are a lucky girl. You don’t even know how
different we poor ones are. I have never turned any one’s head,” said Katie,
with a sigh.
“Do not talk of anything so silly,” said Lucy, blushing, she did not quite
know why. “I think you are laughing at me; and to laugh at me is not kind,
for I am not clever as you are, and can not make fun of you. Katie, tell me
all about yourself, what you are doing; and tell me how they all are at
Hampstead, and if they have got into the new house.”
“I am doing— I don’t know what I am doing,” said Katie, “dancing
attendance on Mrs. Stone and old Southernwood. They are going to get me
a situation in some nice family. I wish the nice family would turn up, for I
am very tired waiting and wasting my holidays in this old place. It is nice
being here? Oh, I know what you will say it is very nice, and I am very
ungrateful; but though it is nice it is a school, Lucy and mamma does not
want me at home, and I have got no other place to go. Lady Langton has
been very kind; she asked me to go there for three days. But it’s dreary
always coming back to school, for the White House is only school when all
is said. They are all right at Hampstead, so far as I know. Did you hear what
happened? Mamma has come into some money. It is not a very great sum,
but it is a great help. It was some old relations, that no one had ever thought
of, and mamma says it might just as well have been the double, for they
were dreadfully rich. But anyhow it has been a great help. With what she
had before, I believe they have quite enough to live on now, without doing
anything,” Katie said with a little pride.
To all this Lucy listened with a countenance void of all expression. She
had been half afraid of her friend’s gratitude: but there was something in
this complete ignorance which was very bewildering. And when she looked
at her own generosity through Katie’s eyes, so to speak, and saw it on the
other side, she felt, too, that “it might as well have been the double,” and
contemplated her own action with a mixture of shame and regret, instead of
the satisfaction which she had vainly felt at first. And this little discovery
made her first wound smart all the more. A certain fear crept over her. She
would have liked to stop her ears from further revelations had she been
able. But as that was impossible, Lucy listened patiently, with a blank
countenance, trying hard to dismiss all appearance of feeling from her face.
 “Mamma would like me to stay at home too,” Katie continued “She can
not bear me to be a governess. But I could not do it; stay at home and sink
down into Hampstead tea-parties—oh, I could not do it! If I get into a good
family, Maud and the others will stand by me, and I shall have some fun at
least and see life. To have only enough to live on, and to live at Hampstead,
is more than I could put up with. Bertie, he has gone into chambers; he
doesn’t live with mamma now. I don’t blame him, do you, Lucy? It must
have been so slow for him, a young man. And now he has some money of
his own, of course he has himself to think of. He is always”— Katie said
slowly, watching her friend’s face—“always talking of you.”
Lucy did not make any response; but she was surprised by this
unexpected change in the strain, and looked up involuntarily, with a half
inquiry in her eyes.
“Oh, constantly!” said Katie, with a mixture of natural mischief and
more serious purpose, not quite able to give up the pleasure of laughing at
her companion, yet very seriously determined to help her brother. “He says
you are cross about that dedication. How could you be cross about it? such
a lovely dedication, making you into a famous person all at once! It is just
the same as Dante did, and Petrarch, and all the poets, Bertie says. And it
has brought him luck. Lucy, do you mind? He wants so much to come down
here.”
“Why should I mind?” Lucy asked. Bertie Russell had floated out of her
recollection; why should his movements concern her? even the dedication,
and all the annoyance it had brought, affected her no more.
“That is quite true, why should you mind?” Katie said, with some pique.
“One more or less doesn’t matter, when there are so many. He wants to
come down and study the scenery for his next book. He means to lay the
scene here; won’t it be exciting? People will be sure to say he has studied
the characters too.”
“I don’t think there are many characters here,” Lucy said.
“Oh, don’t you think so? If I were to write a book I know whom I should
put in; the Missis and little Southernwood, and that fat St. Clair; and old
mademoiselle finding out everything about everybody. Oh, I should soon
make up a book if I could write— I wish I could write,” cried Katie, with
flashing eyes.
 Was it really so? Was Katie vulgar too? Lucy felt herself shrink
involuntarily. She asked herself whether, in the old school girl days, there
had been chatter like this which had not disgusted her, or if Katie had
deteriorated.
“Do not speak so,” she said; “Katie, it is not like you.”
“Oh, yes, it is quite like me. I always was wicked, you were the good
one, Lucy. I hope Bertie will take them all off; and I hope you will not be
cross to him, Lucy; that would take all the heart out of him. Poor old Bertie!
he thinks you are an angel, that is all he knows.”
“I am never cross,” said Lucy, wounded. What had happened to her?
Had her eyes been anointed by that disenchanting touch which turns all the
glories of fairyland into dross and tinsel? or was she really cross with
everybody and out of tune? She could not tell herself which it was.
“You are cross now,” cried Katie, growing red; and then the hasty tears
started to her eyes, and she complained that her friend was “changed.” What
could Lucy say? either it was true, or it was Katie that was changed. “You
are a great lady now,” the girl cried, “with grand friends and everything you
wish for; and I am only a poor governess, not fit company for you.”
This reproach went to Lucy’s heart. She could not defend herself from
such an accusation; it took her entirely without defense, without the power
of saying anything for herself; and she had never had any quarrels in the old
days. Thus the two girls parted, Katie running across the common with red
eyes, in high dudgeon, though there was so little cause for it, while Lucy
stood at the window looking after her piteously, and with an aching heart.
Changed! yes, everything was changed, either within or without; but which
poor Lucy could not tell. She scarcely knew how long she stood there, and
she was so occupied with Katie and the pang of this parting with her that
she did not see another visitor approaching from the town, though he was a
very welcome visitor indeed. When she heard his voice coming up the stair
her heart jumped with pleasure. He had not deserted her then, and gone
away without seeing her. She turned round and opened the door of the
drawing-room in the simplicity of her pleasure.
“I am so glad to see you,” she said with fervor; and Sir Tom came in
smiling, with every appearance of being glad to see her too.
“I thought it best not to come too soon,” Sir Thomas said, “or your old
lady did not like the looks of me, Miss Lucy. Perhaps, I thought, she might
like me even worse than my looks; but this is luck to find you alone.”
“Oh, but I am always alone,” said Lucy, her countenance falling. “This is
not like Grosvenor Street, Sir Thomas; most of the time I see nobody at all;
and when people come they say that I am changed.”
“Somebody has been vexing you,” said Sir Thomas, with his
sympathetic look. “Never you mind, no one who really knows you will
think you changed; and I hope you are happy on the whole, among your old
friends.”
Lucy shook her head.
“It is not that they are not kind,” she said; “they are all very kind—but
they will not permit me to think that other people are kind too; every one
bids me to beware of some one else. You laugh, but I could cry; and it
makes me that I don’t know what to do.”
“They bid you beware of me? Well, I suppose that was to be expected,”
Sir Thomas said, with a laugh.
“Oh, not only of you, but of each other; and Aunt Ford warns me against
them all. Well, it is amusing, I suppose,” said Lucy, “but it does not amuse
me,” and the tears came into her eyes.
“My dear little girl (I am an uncle, you know), things will mend,” said
Sir Tom. “Come, tell me what they say of me. Did they say I was an
extravagant fool, and had wasted all my living like a prodigal? Alas! that is
true, Lucy. It may be uncharitable to say it, but the ladies are quite right;
and if it were not for that excellent plan of the uncle, perhaps, as they tell
you, it would be better for you to have nothing to do with me.”
“I do not believe that,” cried Lucy, almost with vehemence. And then she
paused and looked at him anxiously, and, with a crimson color gradually
coming over her face, asked in a low tone, “Sir Thomas, do not be angry;
are you poor?”
He grew red, too, with surprise, but then laughed.
“Well,” he said, “yes, for my position I certainly am. When a man has a
great house to keep up, and a number of expenses, if he is not rich he must
be poor.”
“Ah! but I don’t think that could be what papa meant,” cried Lucy, with
a profound sigh.
 “I can not tell, nor what you mean either, my little Lucy,” he said. “I feel
very much like an old uncle to-day, so you must pardon the familiarity; you
are so little, and so young, and I am so flêtri, with crows’-feet beyond
counting. Lucy, I have come to bid you good-bye, I am going to Scotland,
you know.”
“Oh!” said Lucy, her countenance falling. “I hoped—we hoped—you
were not going directly. So long as you were near, I felt that there was some
one— Must you really go, Sir Tom?”
Neither of them noticed at the moment the sudden familiarity into which
they had fallen, and Lucy’s dismay was so candid that it was all Sir Tom
could do to keep from a caress, such as would have been very appropriate to
his assumed character, but not very consistent with the partial guardianship
he had been trusted with.
“It is very sweet of you to be sorry,” he said, rising and walking to the
window, where he stood looking out for a moment with back to her, “but I
am afraid I must go, at all events, it will be better for me to go. If you want
anything very urgently, write to me, or send me a telegram; but I don’t
suppose you will have any very pressing necessities,” he said, turning round
with a smile.
“No,” said Lucy, very downcast; “oh; it is not that. I have not any
necessities; I wish I had. It is just—it is only—one wants some one to speak
to, some one to tell—”
She was so disappointed that there came a little quiver into her lips and
quaver in her tone. Had he been right? Was it really true that she was no
more in love with him than he was with his old aunt? Sir Thomas was only
human, and an amiable vanity was warm in him. A pleasant little thrill of
surprise and gratitude went through his heart. Was it perhaps possible? But
Lucy made haste to add,
“You are the only person that I could tell something to—something that
is on my mind. My guardians know, so it is not quite, quite a secret; but no
one else knows; and when I go to them they always oppose me—at least
they did everything they could against me the one time, and I thought if I
could tell you, who are a gentleman, and have experience, it would be such
a comfort, and perhaps you could guide me in doing what I have to do. Papa
did not say I was to tell nobody. I am sure he would have liked me to have
some one to stand by me, since you are so kind to me, Sir Tom.”
 “You may calculate upon me, Miss Lucy. What is it? or do you want to
tell me now, when I am going away?”
His tone was cooled, chilled. Lucy did not quite know how, but she felt
it. Almost for the first time since she had known him, Sir Thomas looked at
her with no wavering of expression in his face, no twinkle in his eye.
“It will perhaps—be a bore to you,” she said, chilled too, and hesitating.
“You learned that word in town,” he said, melting and relaxing into his
habitual laugh. “Come, tell me; when I know, then I shall be able to advise,
and you will find me infallible. Something guardians oppose? then I
suppose it must be a desire you have to be kind to other people, Lucy. They
could not refuse you any little wants of your own.”
“How clever you are, Sir Tom!” said Lucy lighting up; “that is just what,
it is. Papa left me a great deal of money— I believe it is really a great deal
of money—to give away. Perhaps you may have noticed that I have been
rude, very rude, in asking if people were—poor.”
“You asked me so ten minutes ago,” he said.
“Oh, you must not think I meant— Sir Thomas, papa says in his will—
and he has said it to me often—not to waste the money, giving a little here,
and a little there, but when I could find out a fit occasion to provide for
somebody, to put them quite above want.”
“And the thought crossed your sweet little soul,” he said, with one of his
big laughs, “my dear child! to provide for me.”
“No! Oh, no! I never could have been so impertinent; indeed that was
not what I meant; only it flashed across me how much better, if I could, to
give it to some one I liked, than to some one I knew nothing about and
didn’t care for; but then it was not to be people I cared for—only people
who were poor.”
“Lucy, do you care for me?”
“Very much, Sir Tom,” she said, with a brightness quite unusual to her,
turning upon him eyes which met his with perfect frankness and calm. Will
it be believed that Sir Thomas was utterly disgusted by this quite candid,
affectionate, innocent response?
“Ah! that is precisely what I said,” he muttered to himself, jumping up
impatiently from his chair; then he laughed and sat down again.
 “Well, well, tell me how I can help you. This money is to be spent on the
deserving poor. In short, it is a charitable fund.”
“There is nothing about deserving. It is a great deal of money. It is nearly
as much as the half of what I have got. What papa wished was that it should
be given back.”
“The half of what you have got!” Sir Thomas stared at her bewildered, in
his mind making a rapid calculation that, with the half of what she had got,
Lucy would no longer be the greatest heiress in England. He was not sorry.
She would still have a great fortune. Somehow, indeed, it pleased and
conciliated him that she should be put down from that high pedestal. This
was his only reflection on the subject. “What are you to do? are you to
establish institutions or build hospitals?” he said.
“Oh, no, nothing of that kind; only to provide for those that want, not for
the very, very poor, at least not always; but for poor people who are not
poor. Do you know what I mean, Sir Thomas?—for those who have been
well off.”
“I understand: like me—poor ladies and poor gentlemen.”
“We were not ladies and gentlemen ourselves. It is not confined to
them,” said Lucy, doubtfully; “families that are struggling to live, whether
they are gentlemen, or whether they are not—clerks like my Uncle Rainy,
or school-masters like papa. Do you consider it very insulting to offer
people money, when you see that they want it very much?”
“Well, that depends,” said Sir Thomas, recovering his humorous look,
“upon the person who offers and the person to whom it is offered. It
happens so rarely that one has no experience on the subject.”
“Do you remember, Sir Thomas, when I borrowed that hundred
pounds?” Lucy said. “That was for one—it was my first, my very first. She
was very much offended, and then she said she would take it as a loan. I
cheated her into it,” the girl said, with glee; “I told her I could not give any
loans—papa never said anything about loans—but she could give it me
back if she wished when I am my own mistress in seven years. Don’t you
think she will forget before that time? It would be rather dreadful to have it
back.”
“That depends also,” he said; “but I think it very likely that she will
forget. Only take care, take care. Presents of a hundred pounds are very
pleasant things. You will have crowds of claimants if you don’t mind.”
 “A hundred pounds!” said Lucy; “oh, it was not an insignificant thing
like that!”
“You think that insignificant? You have princely notions, it must be
allowed. Might one ask—”
“I counted up very closely,” Lucy said. She was drawn along by the tide
of her own confidences; “for it was no use giving a little bit that would be
swallowed up directly, and do no good. You see it was a lady, and ladies are
not so expensive as men. In that case, and it was my first, it was six
thousand pounds.”
“Six thousand pounds!” Sir Thomas sprung to his feet in comical
consternation, as if he had been struck by electricity. “My dear little girl,”
he said, half tragically, half laughing, “do you know what you are doing?
Are you sure this is in your father’s will? and do your guardians allow it? I
feel my head going round and round. Six thousand pounds! to some one not
related to you, a stranger!”
“Oh, yes,” said Lucy, earnestly, “or it would not be giving it back. My
guardians oppose it as much as ever they can.”
“And I don’t wonder at it!” cried Sir Thomas. “I think I should oppose it,
too; if I were one of them. My dear little Lucy, you are upsetting the very
principles of political economy. Do you know what that means? You will
demoralize everybody you come in contact with. Even I, though my
instincts are not mendicant, it is all I can do not to hold out my hand for
something. I shall be doing it if I stay much longer,” he said.
Lucy looked at him with a dubious, half alarmed look. She never was
quite sure whether he was in jest or earnest, and the possibility, even the
most distant possibility, that he could mean— Even Lucy’s imagination,
however, could not go so far as that. He could read her doubt in her face,
and laughed out.
“I warn you to take care,” he said. “You will be the ruin of all your
friends; but, Lucy, Lucy, this is a very wonderful business; it is like a fairy
tale. You gave away six thousand pounds, and were permitted to do so at
your age? and you mean to do it again—and again?”
“Oh, as often as ever I can,” Lucy said, fervently. “I can not bear to think
how many people may be in want of it, and that I don’t know them, and
don’t know how to find them out. This makes me very unhappy when I
think of it. Perhaps you will help me to find them—”
 “No, that I can not promise to do. I warn you I shall be holding out my
own hand presently. On the contrary, I will keep people out of your
knowledge. You will ruin all our principles,” he said.
“But when it is in the will,” cried Lucy. It is inconceivable how much
lighter her heart felt since she had told him. There was a little flush on her
cheeks, and her eye shone with a pleasant light. She could have gone on
talking for hours now that the flood-gates were open. It was so easy to talk
to Sir Tom. His very laugh was kind, he never found fault, or if he did, that
was as pleasant as the rest; she had a kind of frank admiration of him, and
trust in him, such as some girls feel for an elder brother. The unusual gleam
of excitement in her face made the little quiet Lucy pretty and interesting,
and Sir Thomas was flattered and piqued at once by the enthusiasm of
affectionate faith which was in her eyes. It piqued him, and it pleased him
—that he should have all this, and yet no more. He had got a great deal
more in his life and looked for it, and the absence of it made him a little
impatient.
“Well,” he, said, “you will go through the world like a good fairy, and I
hope the good you will do will make up for the demoralization your want of
principle will lead to. But before my principles are ruined, Lucy, good-bye.
I must go. I have written my address there in your blotting-book, and if you
want me, or if you want to ask me anything, be sure you do it. Thank you
for taking me into your confidence. But now I must go away.”
Lucy got up to say good-bye, but her heart sunk. “Oh, must you go?” she
said; “I am so sorry. While you were here the place was not quite so lonely.
But I hope you will like the shooting very much,” she said with a sigh, and
a sense of real self-sacrifice. Her eyes got moist in spite of herself; and Sir
Thomas bent over her and kissed her forehead, or rather her hair, in spite of
himself. He ought not to have done it, and he was half ashamed of having
done it. “Good-bye, my little Lucy,” he cried. As for Lucy, she took this kiss
“sedately” like the poet’s heroine. It seemed so natural, she liked him so
much; she was glad he liked her a little, too.
 CHAPTER XXXII.

A NEW ADVISER.

Lucy was greatly comforted by the visit of Sir Thomas. It made her sad to
see him go away, and the consciousness that he was no longer within reach
raised for the moment another cloud upon her horizon; but on the whole it
was an exhilaration to her to have spoken to him, to have shared her secret
with him. She had, as she said, tried to communicate it to Lady Randolph in
the early days of their companionship; but it had been so very far from
Lady Randolph’s thoughts that Lucy’s timid hint had made no impression
on her mind. Neither would Sir Thomas have been capable of understanding
had she spoken less plainly than she did; but Lucy at last had spoken very
plainly, and he had understood. He had not given her any valuable advice.
In such circumstances there is very little advice practicable; but he had
understood, which is such a great matter. She knew no better what to do,
how to turn, and how to distribute the money, than she had done at the first;
but yet she was easier in her mind. She had talked it over, and it had done
her good. Henceforward she was not alone in her possession of this secret.
A secret is a very heavy burden to be borne alone, and, though Lucy had
been restrained by many considerations from asking Sir Thomas’ advice on
the special question which now occupied her mind, she was still consoled.
In case of any break-down he would not blame her; he would give her his
sympathy. In case of any difficulty she could write to him, or even summon
him to her aid. He liked her, which was a pleasure to think of—liked her as
she liked him—though he was so much older, and of so much more
importance in the world. All this was of great comfort to Lucy. She began to
hold up her head, and to feel herself less abandoned. It was true he had gone
away, but that did not matter so much; he would come back if she wanted
his help; and in the meanwhile time was going, floating on noiselessly and
swiftly, and by and by the Farafield chapter would be over. Mrs. Ford, who
had watched for Sir Tom’s departure very jealously, and who had bounced
out of the parlor to see him go away, and detected a little redness about
Lucy’s eyes, was reassured by hearing her hum little tunes to herself in the
latter part of the day, and talk to Jock with great animation about his new
tutor, and all that was going to happen.
“She didn’t mind after all,” Mrs. Ford said; “how should she, a man old
enough to be her father!” And thus everybody was pleased.
In the afternoon Katie Russell came in, all tearful and penitent, to beg
Lucy’s pardon, and declare that “it was all me.” The pardon was accorded
with great willingness and satisfaction, and Katie stayed and chattered, and
made a lasting peace. She offended Lucy’s taste no longer; or else Lucy
awoke to the fact that her friend was never entirely to her taste, and that
toleration is the most essential of all qualities to friendship. Katie remained
to tea. She told Jock a quite new story, which he had never heard before,
and could not parallel out of his books; and she beguiled Lucy back into the
old world of careless youth. Lucy’s youth had never been so thoughtless or
so merry as that of many of her comrades. Even Katie, though she had
known so many of the drawbacks of life, had, on the other hand, got a great
deal more pleasure out of it than the heiress had ever known. Sometimes the
pleasures and the pains go together, and it is a question whether those are
best off who hold the middle way between, and have not much of either.
Katie was a more lively companion than Lucy, with her serious upbringing,
her sense of responsibility, and those cares which had been put so
prematurely upon her young head, could ever have been. The pink drawing-
room for the first time became mirthful, and light voices and laughter
disturbed the quiet. “Just listen,” Mrs. Ford said: “Sir Thomas, for all such a
great man as you think him, has not made much impression there.” Her
husband, who had a very high opinion of the influence of Sir Thomas,
uttered a “humph” of protestation from where he sat in his easy-chair by the
fire-place. The grate full of shavings was not so pleasant as the grate with a
good fire in it was in winter; but it was Ford’s place at all seasons. He said
nothing but humph! having nothing to add to bolster up his opinion. But it
would have been as surprising to him as to his wife had they known that it
was he who was in the right, and that even Lucy’s laugh, her easier mind,
her more cheerful face, owed something to the cheerful presence of Sir
Tom, even though he had gone away.
At tea they were joined by another and unexpected visitor, at the sight of
whom Mrs. Ford threw up her hands. “Philip,” she cried, “I thought you
were abroad. How glad I am to see you! Dear, dear, how little one knows! I
was thinking this very afternoon, when I saw a picture of the snowy
mountains—there, now, Philip’s about there.”
“I have come back,” said Philip; “I was abroad all last month, but a great
many things seemed to call me home. There is a bit to be built on at Kent’s
Lane. And there was Lucy. Oh, how do you do? You are here! I thought,”
he said with frankness which Mrs. Ford thought excessive, “that I must
come back if Lucy was here.”
“I shall be here for six months,” said Lucy, calmly, “I am very glad to
see you, Cousin Philip, but it is a pity you should have come back for me.”
“I don’t regret it,” said the young man; he did not resemble any of the
others whom Lucy knew. He was not like St. Clair, or yet Raymond
Rushton, who, though the one was fat and the other awkward, had still a
certain naturalness and ease, as if they belonged to the position in which
they were. Philip was a great deal more carefully adapted to his position in
every respect than they were. He had just the clothes which a man in the
country in the month of August ought to wear, and he had been absent,
spending the first part of his holiday “abroad,” as most men in August
would like to be. He had all the cleanness and neatness and trimness which
are characteristic of a well bred Englishman. He was not fine; there was no
superfluous glitter about him—not a link too much to his watch-chain, not
an unnecessary button. In the very best taste! the only thing against him was
that his appearance was too complete. He had the air of being respectful of
his clothes, and very conscious of them. And he was always on his good
behavior, very careful to commit no solecism, to do exactly what it was
right to do. He came in with his hat in his hand, and clung to it, though all
the time it was apparent in his countenance that he would much rather have
left it in the hall. It was in such matters that Philip Rainy betrayed himself,
for in his heart he felt that it would also have been much more sensible had
he hung up his hat, and not encumbered himself with the care of it. He sat
down on the haircloth sofa, not approaching his chair to the table round
which all the others were seated. He had been brought up upon bread and
butter, and was very well accustomed to the homely tea-table; but he felt he
owed it to himself to keep up a position of independence, inferring the
superior dignity of a late dinner even in vacation time, and a soul above tea.
“Nothing to eat?” said Ford. “I think you’re wrong, Philip; here is toast,
and there are some nice slices of cold beef; and there’s cake, but there’s no
Welcome to our website – the ideal destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. With a mission to inspire endlessly, we offer a
vast collection of books, ranging from classic literary works to
specialized publications, self-development books, and children's
literature. Each book is a new journey of discovery, expanding
knowledge and enriching the soul of the reade

Our website is not just a platform for buying books, but a bridge
connecting readers to the timeless values of culture and wisdom. With
an elegant, user-friendly interface and an intelligent search system,
we are committed to providing a quick and convenient shopping
experience. Additionally, our special promotions and home delivery
services ensure that you save time and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Let us accompany you on the journey of exploring knowledge and

personal growth!

ebookfinal.com