"Is there a library here?"
"A sort of one; not large. Books that some of the people subscribe for, and pass round to each other's houses."
"Then it is not much of a reading community?"
"Well, it is, considerable," said Mrs. Armadale. "There's a good many books in the village, take 'em all together. I guess the folks have as much as they can do to read what they've got, and don't stand in need of no more."
"Well, are people any happier for living in such a quiet way? Are they sheltered in any degree from the storms that come upon the rest of the world? How is it? As I drove along from the station to-night, I thought it looked like a haven of peace, where people could not have heartbreaks."
"I hope the Lord will make it such to you, ma'am," the old lady said solemnly.
The turn was so sudden and so earnest, that it in a sort took Mrs. Barclay's breath away. She merely said, "Thank you!" and let the talk drop.
CHAPTER XXI.
GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS.
Mrs. Barclay found her room pleasant, her bed excellent, and all the arrangements and appointments simple, indeed, but quite sufficient. The next morning brought brilliant sunlight, glittering in the elm trees, and on the green sward which filled large spaces in the street, and on chimneys and housetops, and on the bit of the Connecticut river which was visible in the distance. Quiet it was certainly, and peaceful, and at the same time the sight was inspiriting. Mrs. Barclay dressed and went down; and there she found her parlour in order, the sunlight streaming in, and a beautiful fire blazing to welcome her.