 Preface of Say-and-Seal. If any man make religion as twelve and the world as thirteen, such a one hath not the spirit of a true New England man. Higginson. It is a melancholy fact that this book is somewhat larger than the mold into which most of the fluid fiction material is poured in this degenerate age. You perceive, good reader, that it has run over, in the latest volume. Doubtless, the Procrustian critic would say, cut it off, which point we wave. The book is really a very moderate limit, considering that two women had to have their say in it. It is pleasant to wear a glove when one shakes hands with the public, therefore we still use our ancestors' names instead of our own, but it is fair to state that in this case there are a pair of gloves. Which is the right glove, and which the left, the public will never know. A word to that dear, delightful class of readers, who believe everything that is written, and do not look at the number of the last page till they come to it, nor perhaps even then. Well they and the author know that if the heroine cries, or laughs too much, it is nobody's fault but her own. Gently they quarrel with him for not permitting them to see every Jenny happily married, and every Tom with settled good habits. When you turn publishers, then will such books doubtless be written. Meantime hear this. In a shady, sunshiny town, lying within certain bounds, geographical or imaginary, these events, really, or in imagination, occurred, precisely when the chroniclers do not say. Scene opens with the breezes which June and the coming of a new school teacher naturally create. After the fashion of the place his lodgings are arranged for him beforehand by the school committee. But where, or in what circumstances, the scene may close, having told at the end of the book, we do not incline to tell at the beginning. Elizabeth Weatherell. Amy Lothrop. New York. February 1, 1860. End of Preface. Volume 1. Chapter 1. Of Say and Seal by Susan and Anna Warner. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 1. The street was broad, with sidewalks and wide grass-grown borders and a spacious track of wheels and horses-feet in the centre. Great Elms, which the early settlers planted, waved their pendant branches over the peaceful highway and gave shelter and nest-room to numerous orioles, kill-deer and robins, putting off their yellow leaves in the autumn and bearing their winter weight of snow in seeming quiet assurance that spring would make amends for all. So slept the early settlers in the churchyard. Along the street, at pleasant neighborly intervals, not near enough to be crowded nor far enough to be lonely, stood the houses, comfortable, spacious, compact, with no nonsense about them. The Mongley, like a mere blue thread in the distance, its course often pointed out by the gaff of some little sloop that followed the bend of the river up towards Sukiog. The low rolling shore was spotted with towns and spires. Overall was spread the fairest blue sky and floating specks of white. Not many sounds were a stir. The robins whistled, thief-like over the cherry trees. The kill-deer, from some high twig, sent forth his sweet, clear note, and now and then a pair of wheels rolled softly along the smooth road, the rush of the wind filled up the pauses. Anybody who was down by the Mong might have heard the soft roll of his blue waters. Anyone by the lighthouse might have heard the harsher dash of the salt waves. I might go on and say that if anybody had been looking out of Mrs. Derrick's window, he or she might have seen what Mrs. Derrick really saw, for she was looking out of the window, or rather through the blind, at the critical moment that afternoon. It would be too much to say that she placed herself there on purpose. Let the reader suppose what he likes. At the time, then, that the village clock was striking for, when meditative cows were examining the length of their shadows and all the geese were setting forth for their afternoon swim, a stranger opened Mrs. Derrick's little gate and walked in. Stretching out one hand to the dog in token of good fellowship, a classical mind might have fancied him breaking the cake by whose help Quickyear got past the lions. He went up the walk, neither fast nor slow, ascended the steps, and gave what Mrs. Derrick called considerable of a wrap at the door. That done he faced about and looked at the far-off blue mong. Not more intently did he eye and read that fair river. Not more swiftly did his thoughts pass from the mong to things beyond human ken, and Mrs. Derrick eyed and read his back, and suffered her ideas to roam into the far-off regions of speculation. The light summer coat, the straw hat, were nothing uncommon, but the silk umbrella was too good for the coat, the gloves and boots altogether extravagant. He ain't a bit like the Patecquasset folk's faith, she said, in a whisper thrown over her shoulder to her daughter. Mother! Mrs. Derrick replied by an inarticulate sound of interrogation. I wish she wouldn't stand just there, do come away. Law-child! said Mrs. Derrick, moving back about half an inch. He's looking off into space. But he'll be in. Not till somebody goes to the door, said Mrs. Derrick, and there's not a living soul in the house but us, too. Why didn't you say so before? Must I go, mother? He don't seem in a hurry, said her mother, and I wasn't. Yes, you can go if you like, child, and if you don't like, I'll go. With a somewhat slower step than usual, with a slight hesitating touch of her hand to the smooth brown hair which lay over her temples, Miss Faith moved through the hall to the front door, gently opened it, and stood there, in the midst of the doorway, fronting the stranger. By no means an uncomely picture for the frame, for the face was good, the figure trim, and not only was the rich hair smooth, but a little white ruffle gave a dainty setting to the throat and chin which rose above it, both themselves rather on the dainty order. I saved fronting the stranger, yet to speak truth the stranger was not fronting her. For having made one more loud appeal to the knocker, having taken off his hat, the better to feel the soft river breeze, he stood as before, looking off into space, but with one hand resting more decidedly upon the silk umbrella. Faith took a minute's view of decidedly pleasant outlines of shoulders and head, or what she thought such, glanced at the hand which grasped the umbrella handle, and then lifting her own fingers to the knocker of the door, caused it gently to rise and fall. A somewhat long breath escaped the stranger, as if the sound chimed in with his thoughts, nothing more. Faith stood still and waited. Perhaps that last sound of the knocker had by degrees asserted its claim to reality. Perhaps impatience began to assert its claim. Perhaps that long elm-tree shadow which was creeping softly on, into his very feet, broke in upon the muser's vision. Certainly he turned, with a very quick motion towards the door, and a gesture of the hand which said that this time the knocker should speak out. The door, however, stood open, the knocker beyond his reach, and missed faith so nearly within it that he dropped his hand even quicker than he had raised it. "'I beg your pardon,' he said, with a grave inclination of the head. "'I believe I knocked.' "'Yes, sir. I thought you had forgotten,' said Faith, not with perfect amureness which she would like to have achieved. "'Were you pleased to come in?' And somewhat regardless of consequences, leaving the hall-door where it stood, Faith proceeded her guest along the hall, and again performed for him the office of door-opener at the parlor, ushering him thus into the presence of her mother. Mrs. Derrick was seated in the rocking-chair at the furthest corner from the window, and perfectly engrossed with the last monthly magazine. But she came out of them all with wonderful ease and prop-ness. Shaquans, very cordially with the newcomer, seated him in her corner-and-chair before he could make much resistance, and would also have plunged him into the magazine, but there he was firm. "'If you would only make yourself comfortable while I see where your baggage is,' said the good lady. "'But I can tell you where it is, ma'am,' said he, looking up at her. "'It is at the station, and will be here in half an hour.' "'Well, when did you have dinner?' said Mrs. Derrick, resolved upon doing something. "'Yesterday,' was his quiet reply. "'Today I have been in the cars.' "'Oh, my, my,' said Mrs. Derrick. "'Then, of course, we'll have tea at once. Faith?' "'I'm here, mother. I'll go and see to it right away.' But in some mysterious manner the stranger reached the doorway before either of the ladies. "'Mrs. Derrick, Miss Faith, I told you that I had had no dinner, and that was true. It is also true that I am in not the least hurry for tea. Please do not have it until your usual time.' And he walked back to his seat. But after the slightest possible pause of hesitancy, Faith had disappeared. Her mother followed her. "'Child,' she said, what on earth is his name?' "'Mother, how should I know? I didn't ask him.' "'But the thing is,' said Mrs. Derrick, I did know. The committee told me all about it, and, of course, he thinks I know, and I don't—no more than I do my great-grandmother's name, which I never did remember yet.' "'Mother, shall I go and ask him? Or wait till after supper?' "'Oh, you shan't go,' said her mother. "'Wait till after supper, and we'll send Cindy. He won't care about his name till he gets his tea, I'll warn. But what made you so long getting the door open, child? Does it stick?' "'Why?' said Faith, bearing her arms, and entering upon sundry quick movements about the room. It was open, and he didn't know it.' "'Didn't know it,' said Mrs. Derrick. "'My! I hope he ain't short-sighted. Now, Faith, I'm not going to have you burn your face for all the schoolteachers in Connecticut. Keep away, child. I'll put on the kettle myself. Cindy must have found her bow again. It's as tiresome as tiresome can be. It's just as well, Mother. I'd rather do it myself. Now you go in and find what his name is, and I'll have everything together directly. The oven's hot now.' "'I'll go in presently,' said Mrs. Derrick, but as to asking him what his name is. Well, a child I'd just as soon ask him where it came from.' And in deep thought on the subject Mrs. Derrick set briskly about the kitchen. "'Faith,' she said, where shall I ask him to sit? Will you pour out tea, or shall I, Mother? What's that to do?' "'Why, I was thinking—but it don't matter where you put him. There's four sides to the table.' "'Don't talk of my putting him anywhere, child. I'm as afraid of him as can be.' Mrs. Derrick went back to see how time went with her guest. It went fast or slow, I suppose, after all, somewhat according to the state of his appetite. One hour and ten minutes certainly had slipped away. If he was hungry he knew that another ten minutes was following in train. When at length the parlor door opened again, and Faith stood there with a white apron on, and cheeks a good deal heightened in color since the date of their last appearance. Mother tea's ready. Cindy hasn't got back. And having made this gentle announcement Faith disappeared again, giving it to her mother to show the way to the supper room. This was back of the parlor, and communicated with the kitchen, from which Faith came in as they entered, bearing a plate of white biscuits smoking hot in her hand. The floor was painted with thick yellow paint, smooth and shining, plenty of windows led in plenty of light, and the sweet evening air. The table stood covered with a clean, brownish tablecloth. But what a supper covered that! Rosie slices of boiled ham, snowy rounds of milk empties, bread, strawberries, pot cheeses, pickles, fried potatoes and Faith's white cakes, with tea and coffee. Now, as Faith had laid the clean napkin for the stranger at the foot of the table opposite her mother, it cannot be thought presumption in him that he at once took his seat there, thus relieving Mrs. Derrick's mind of an immense responsibility. Yet something in his manner then made her pause and look at him, though she did not expect to see him bow his head and ask for a blessing on the meal before him. If that was presumption neither of his hearers felt it so, the little flush on the mother's cheek told rather of a motion of some old memory now quickened into life. Her voice even trembled a little, as she said. Will you have tea or coffee, sir? And Faith offered her biscuit. Or there's bread if you like it better, sir. The biscuits are best, said her mother. Faith's biscuits are always good. And he took a biscuit, while a very slight unbending of the lines of his face said that the excellence of Faith's handiwork was at least not always so apparent. Miss Faith, what shall I give you in return that is beyond your reach and comparatively within mine? Possibly, possibly, the slight grave opening of two rather dark eyes confessed that in her apprehension the store thus designated from which he might give her was very large indeed. But if that was so her lips came short of the truth for she answered, I don't want anything, thank you. Not even butter, with his hand on the knife. Faith seemed inclined not to want butter, but finally submitted and held out her plate, whereupon having helped her and himself the stranger diverged a little with the rather startling question. What sort of a floor I have you in this neighborhood? There isn't any, mother? said Faith, with a doubtful appeal towards the tea-tray. A pleasant look fell upon her while her look went away, a look which said he would like to tell her all about the matter then and there, but merely taking another of the white biscuits he went on to ask whether the roads were good and the views fine. The roads are first-rate, said Mrs. Derrick. I don't know much of views myself, but Faith thinks they're wonderful. I don't suppose they are wonderful, said Faith, but it is pretty up the mong, and I am sure, mother, it's pretty down on the shore towards the sun-setting. And how is it towards the sun-rising? I never saw it. We never go down there then, Faith said, with a very frank smile. Faith always stays by me, said Mrs. Derrick. If I can't go she won't, and of course I never can at that time of day. It's quite a way down to the shore. What shore? It's the seashore. That is not the real seashore. It's only the sound, said Faith. But there is the salt water, and it is as good as the sea. How far off, said the stranger, bestowing upon Faith a saucer of strawberries. Faith would have asked him to help himself, but taking notice mentally that he was extremely likely to do so, she contented herself with replying. It's about two miles. And what are some of the good things there? Perhaps you wouldn't think it much, said Faith modestly, but the water is pretty, and I like to see the ships and vessels on it going up and down, and the points of the shore and the wet stones look such beautiful colors when the sun is near set. I like stones, whether wet or dry, said her questioner. Most people here don't like them, said Faith. But there are plenty down by the seashore. And plenty on the farm, too, she added. Ah, people like and dislike things for very different reasons, Miss Faith, he answered. So perhaps your neighbors and I are not so far apart in our opinions, as you may think. Only I believe that, while there is a time to cast away stones, there is also a time to gather stones together, and there and perhaps they would not agree with me. Faith looked up, and her lips parted, and if the thought had been spoken which parted them it would probably have been a confession that she did not understand, or a request for more light. But if her face did not say it for her, she did not say it for herself. If anybody could have seen Mrs. Derek's face while these little sentences went back and forth, he would have acknowledged it was worth the sight. Her awe and admiration of every word uttered by the stranger, the intense interest with which she waited for every word spoken by Faith. The slight look of anxiety changing to one of perfect satisfaction was pretty to see. Faith, she said when tea was over, and her guest had walked to the front door to take another look at space. Faith, don't you think he liked a supper? I should think he would after having no dinner, said Faith. But it was such a mercy, child, that you hadn't gone out to supper anywhere. I can't think what I should have done. They are sinny this minute. Run and tell her to go right away and find out what his name is. Tell her I want to know. You can put it in good words. Mother, I'd rather ask him myself. But that did not suit Mrs. Derrick's ideas of propriety. And stepping out into the kitchen, she dispatched Cindy on her errand. Cindy presently came back from the front door and went into the dining-room. But not finding Mrs. Derrick, she handed a card to Faith. It's easy done, said Cindy. I just asked him if he had any objections towards telling his name, and he kinder opened his eyes at me and said no. Then I said, says I, and Mrs. Derrick don't know, and she'd liked her. Miss Derrick, says he, and he took out his pencil and ripped that. But I'd like to know what he cleans his pencil with, said Cindy in conclusion, for I'm free to confess I never see brass shine so in my born days. Faith took the card and read. John and Decotte Linden. She looked a little curiously at the penciling, at the formation of the capitals and of the small letters, then laid it down and gave her attention to the dishes of the supper-table. CHAPTER II The next day was Saturday. The morning opened with grey clouds covering the sky, but which were light and light broken, and promised to roll away entirely as soon as the sun should reach a commanding position in the heavens. The sun, however, was still quite distant from such a position, in fact, was not much more than an hour high, when Lucinda, who was sweeping the front door-steps, was hailed from the front door by a person not one of the party of the preceding evening, and very unlike either of them. It was a lady, not young, of somewhat small figure, trim and nicely dressed. Indeed, she was rather handsomely dressed, and in somewhat French taste. She had showy cold earrings in her ears, and a head much more in the mode than either Mrs. Derrick's or her daughter's. The face of this lady was plain, decidedly, but redeemed by a look of sense and shrewdness altogether unmixed with ill nature. The voice spoke alert and pleasantly. So, Lucinda, you had company last night, didn't you? Maybe we did, maybe we didn't, said Lucinda, brushing away with great energy at an imaginary bit of lint at the end of the upper step. I don't know, but we'd just as good call him one of the family. So much at home already. I missed seeing him last night. I couldn't get home. What's he like, Cindy, and what has he done? Done, said Cindy. Well, he's went out almost before I was up. As to like, Miss Dilly, just you look at him when he comes in. He looks some like folks, and yet he don't, neither. He's out, is he? Yes, said Cindy, reducing a large family of spiders to temporary starvation and despair. He's out, if he ain't gone in, no wears. Miss Dilly, if you'll just stand inside the door, I can wash the steps, just as well. What's the gentleman out so early for? Maybe he's missed some of his luggage, Cindy. Hope he ain't got no more without its lighter, said Cindy. However he carried it upstairs himself, I'm free to confess. I guess it weren't for luggage he went out, because he asked about breakfast time special. If he means to be out till then he'll have a good walk of it. It wanted five minutes of breakfast time, and Mrs. Derrick, what was stepping into the kitchen to oversee Cindy, and stepping to the front window to oversee the street, was warm enough for a cooler morning. Faith, she said, referring as usual to her daughter, faith, what shall we do if he don't come? I guess he'll come, mother, he knows the time. The things won't hurt much by waiting a little. As she spoke, the little front gate swung softly, too, and the person in question came leisurely out the steps and into the hall. Then, having just glanced into the parlor he at once, with a promptitude which bespoke him too punctual himself to doubt the punctuality of others, advanced to the dining-room door and walked in. Mrs. Derrick's face showed gratification mingled with her good nature. Faith smiled, and Miss Dilly was duly introduced as Miss Delia Danforth, Mrs. Derrick's aunt, then on a visit at Patacwassit. You've taken an early stroll this morning, sir, said this last lady. View the country? No, said Mr. Linden. I have been viewing the town. Ah, well I call that viewing the country. Town and country all's one here, and it makes a very pleasant sort of place. But what do you call the town, sir, do you drink coffee? The town, said Mr. Linden, in answer to the first question, receiving his coffee-cup from Mrs. Derrick by way of answer to the second, means in this instance, Miss Danforth, that spot of country which is most thickly settled. Yes, ma'am, I drink coffee. Very bad for you, sir, don't you know it? Bad for me as one of the human race, or as an individual specially marked out not to drink it. Dear me, said Miss Danforth, sipping her own tea, I don't know what you are marked out for. I think it's a mistake for everybody to think he is marked for something special. They set the mark themselves, and generally it don't fit. But the fact that a man often gets the wrong mark by no means proves that there is no right one which belongs to him, said Mr. Linden, looking gravely at Faith, as if he meant she should smile. Faith seemed to look at the question, however rather seriously, for dropping her knife and fork, she asked. How shall a man know his mark? By earnest consideration and prayer, he answered, really grave this time. I know of no other way, Miss Faith. What a remark that was, it silenced the whole table. Knives and forks and spoons had it alone, with only words of necessity, till Faith asked Mr. Linden if he would not have another cup of coffee. Certainly, he said, handing her his cup, there is so much to be said on both sides of that little bit of China, I must not be partial in my attention. But you can't study both sides of a subject at once, said the coffee-hater. Then take them alternately, and figuratively walk round your coffee-cup, surveying its fair proportions from different points of view. If the coffee is strong and you are nervous, that's one thing. Again, if the coffee be weak and you be pragmatic, that's another. The coffee's not strong today, said Mrs. Derrick with a regretful shake of her head. Nor am I pragmatic, with the slightest possible indication of a smile. Do you think, said Miss Danforth, a man is better able to decide questions of common judgment for having studied a great deal, learned a great many things, I mean? That depends very much upon what effect his studies have had upon his judgment. Mrs. Derrick, are you trying to break me off from coffee by degrees? This cup has no sugar in it. Oh, my, said Mrs. Derrick, coloring up in the greatest confusion. I do beg your pardon, sir. Faith, take the sugar bowl, child, and pick out some large lumps. You will get more praise from Miss Danforth than blame from me, man, said Mr. Linden, submitting his cup to Miss Faith's amendment and watching the operation. I don't know, said Miss Danforth, good humanly. Maybe he can stand it. If he takes two cups, I should say he can. How do you like the profession of teaching, sir? Now to say truth Mr. Linden did not know. Not by actual practice, but it was also a truth which he did not feel bound to disclose. He therefore stirred his coffee with a good deal of deliberation, and even tasted it, before he replied, What would you say to me, Miss Danforth, if I profess to be fond of teaching some people some things? Miss Faith, that last lump of sugar was potent. What sort of people and what sort of things, for instance, said the lady? The things I know best and the people who think they know least, for instance, he replied. I should say you know definitions, was Miss Danforth's again good human rejoinder. What did you say was the matter with the sugar, sir? Said Faith. I said it was potent, Miss Faith, or I might have said powerful, but indeed it was not the sugar's fault. The difficulty was there was not enough coffee to counterbalance it. I put in too much, said Faith, making a regretful translation of this polite speech. Yes, said Mr. Linden, with great solemnity, as he set down the empty cup, but too much sugar is at least not a common misfortune. With what appreciation I shall look back to this some day when I have not enough? What did you think of the sunrise this morning? Do you mean because the sky was covered with clouds, said Faith? But there was enough, the sun looked through and the colors were beautiful. Did you see them? I wonder when you did, child, said Miss Danforth, up to your elbows in butter. Yes, I saw them. Then you are true to your name, Miss Faith, and find enough in a cloudy sky? Pray, Miss Danforth, what depth of butter does a churning yield in this region? I guess, said Miss Danforth, laughing. You never saw much of a farmer's work, did you? Is butter-making farmer's work? said Mr. Linden, with a face of grave inquiry. Here's the trustees, said Cindy, opening at the door. At least that's what they said they be, but I'm free to confess taint nobody but Squire Deacons and Parson Summers. Do they want me? said Mr. Linden, looking round. I guess, likely, said Cindy. The Squire does come here to see Miss Faith, but I guess taint her he wants this time. And Cindy vanished. What did the trustees want? said Miss Danforth. Upon the testimony of Cinderella they want me, said Mr. Linden. Miss Faith, may I have a glass of water? What they want to do with me, Miss Danforth, is a little uncertain. Well, said Miss Danforth, I think you'll be able to prevent them. He rose to take the glass from Faith's hand, and then merely inquiring whether the ladies were coming to second him, left the room. Parson Summers was a young-looking, good-looking, affable gentleman who pressed the ladies' hands very cordially and was very happy to see them. Squire Deacon was younger and likewise good-looking, but affability he had never been charged with. Over the handsome cut of face, the strong, well-built figure, he wore a manor as rough as a bear's great coat, only at some times, and for some people, the roughness was brushed down. It never would stay, any more than the various, elegant phrases with which Deacon sometimes seasoned his speech, would take root there and spread. Quite an agreeable variation, said Mr. Summers, ha, in such a place as Patequacet, to have a new arrival among us. Mr. Linden, I hope you will like our little town. You have a pleasant experience of us to begin with. Yes, but Parson, don't make him think we're all like some," said Squire Deacon, and as he turned towards Faith, the beaming of his face seemed almost reflected in his brass buttons. Dreadful, gloomy morning, Miss Faith. Mr. Linden has probably seen too much of the world, said Mr. Summers, not to know that, ah, too great a preponderance of good is not to be looked for. May as well look for as much as you can find, said Miss Danforth, a good deal's lost by not looking for it. Ah, said the Squire, with another glance at Faith. It's not so hard to find things, neither, Miss Danforth. You remember Sinbad the Sailor looking down into the Vale of Diamonds? Don't remember him a bit. What did he see there? Nothing but diamond jewelry, said Squire Deacon in a sentimental tone. Miss Faith, you doubtless recollect the tale. I hope, said Mr. Summers, ha, friend Deacon, you don't mean that Mr. Linden should look for a Vale of Diamonds in Patquasset. Whereabouts does the Vale lie, sir? said Mr. Linden. But the Squire, as if a new idea had struck him, replied somewhat brusquely. Don't lie nowhere, sir. Nowhere's but in Fancy's field. I suppose, said Mr. Summers, smiling blambly, Mr. Linden's peculiar course of business don't lead him much into that field. You can strike into it most anywhere, said Miss Danforth. Mr. Linden's an early man. He'll find the Vale of Diamonds if it's in the town. Miss Faith told me there were stones enough here, he said, but she did not hint that any of them were precious. We shall expect, said Mr. Summers, to see some of our stones, I mean, some of our hard heads and thick heads grow precious, or improve, under Mr. Linden's management. Pray, sir, said Squire Deacon, suddenly recollecting that he was a trusty. What do you consider the best plan for the instruction of youth? What is your method? Mr. Linden looked contemplatively out of the window. I think, sir, if the boys are very rough, I should first teach them manners. If they are smoother boys, I should teach them spelling. If they have already learned spelling, I should let them read. The Squire bowed. Quite satisfactory, sir. Mr. Summers, I think perhaps Mr. Linden would like to visit our little temple of literature. I should be very gratified to accompany Mr. Linden in viewing so much of Pataclasit. I trust Mr. Linden that the highest moral and religious teaching of the youth here will not be quite overlooked in your system. The reply that first rose to Mr. Linden's lips came not forth. He checked himself, rather perhaps in deference to the subject than anything else, and simply answered, I trust not, sir. And with many low bows from the Squire the two gentlemen went into the hall, Mr. Linden, following. But he came back the next moment to ask the dinner-hour. We are as apt to have it at noon as any time, said Faith. Will that do Mr. Linden? We could have it later. That will do perfectly, only if the temple of literature opens and swallows me up, Miss Faith. Don't wait, that's all. And with a smile that was a strong contrast to the face he had bestowed upon the trustees, he went after them. CHAPTER III One day morning came, with its hands full of work. They were willing hands that were outstretched to receive the load, strong hands, too, and skillful, but it may be better suited to other work. Certainly, as the days passed, Endicott's gravity took a deeper tinge, and his words became fewer. Still maintaining his morning walk and a light tasting of the air at night, ever punctual at meals, and when there displaying an unruffled equanimity and cheerfulness, the even tones of his voice showed sometimes a little weariness, and his step grew more thoughtful. And so the week rolled on, and the afternoon sun of Friday began to near the horizon. It was a warm afternoon, soft and balmy, a little haze on the sky, the least veil upon the mong's further shore, the summer roses hanging their heads, heavy with sleep and sweetness. The honeysuckles on the porch grew sweeter and sweeter as the sun went down, and the hummingbirds dipped into those long flagans or poised themselves in mid-air for a survey. In the porch sat the three ladies. Each had been busy, and now each laid down her work, obedient to unseen influences. The warm breeze was softly rubbing Faith's cheek with its rouging fingers, and her mother gazed, nor could give one look to hummingbirds or roses. Her thoughts, however, took greater range, or the low chiming of the village clock sent them off, for she presently said, Faith, my dear, what have we got for tea? That meal being under Faith's special superintendence. Very good blackberry's mother and beautiful raspberries, and I cut my cream cheese, and Cindy is ready to bake the bannocks. Butters as sweet as it can be this churning. Will that do? Mr. Linden likes raspberries and cream. She added a little lower. Mrs. Derek gave a comprehensive, yes, child, to both parts of Faith's reply, and then stopped and looked away up the street. For down the street at that moment came Mr. Linden, walking dangerously, his head bent toward one of his older scholars, who had both hands clasped around his arm. The boy's upraised eager face showed even at a distance how earnestly he was talking. There he comes, said Miss Danforth. Who is that with him, said Faith? Ruben Taylor-child, her mother answered. Then as they came near the gate and stopped and shook hands, Ruben cried out, in answer to words which they did not hear. Let me go do please, Mr. Linden! And when, while his teacher opened the gate, picked one of the drooping roses, came up the steps and, taking off his hat, bowed to the assembled ladies. Well, Mr. Linden, said Miss Danforth, how do you find the Patecquasset diamonds? I find madam that they shine, as is the custom of diamonds. Are you going to let Ruben Taylor go? Wither, said Mr. Linden. Why, where he asked you, is he one of Mr. Summer's precious stones? He has gone, was the smiling reply. Precious? Yes. Everybody is precious in one sense. You haven't been to college for nothing, said Miss Danforth, who would talk about anything. I should like you to find out in what sense I am precious. I have a good many friends, but there isn't one of them that wouldn't eat and drink just as well with me out of the world as in it. He smiled a little, though rather soberly, and stood watching changing colors of clouds and sky for a minute or two without speaking. Then, half to himself as it were, low, but very distinctly, he repeated, and they shall be mine, saith the Lord, in the day when I make up my jewels. The answer to this was only in pantomime, but striking. Miss Danforth did not speak, and instead thereof turned her head over her shoulder and looked away steadily over the meadows which stretched north of the house into the distance. Faith's eyes fell to the floor and the lids drooped over them, and as plain a veil of shadow fell upon her face. Mrs. Derek's eyes went from one to the other, with a look which was not unwanted with her, and a little sigh which said she thought everybody was good but herself. Ain't she never coming in to supper? said Cindy, framing herself in the doorway. I want to get out after supper, Miss Faith. She said, dropping her voice. I do real bad. Is all ready, Cindy? Yes, Marm, said Cindy. I'm free to confess there's a pile of cakes baked. Miss Faith, when do you mean to show me the shore? said Mr. Linden, turning round. You've been so busy all the week, said Faith, and then you didn't speak of it, Mr. Linden. I can go any time. My dear, said Mrs. Derek, there come Squire Deacon. Maybe he'll stay to supper. I'll go and put on another cup. Mr. Linden gave one glance at the opening gate, and followed Mrs. Derek into the house. Miss Faith, said the Squire, do you think the night do's conducive to—to your comfort? When they are falling, said Faith abstractedly, why not, Mr. Deacon? To be sure, said the Squire gallantly, honey-suckles, and such things do, but what I mean is this—Silly's going to get up a great shore party to-morrow, and she says she couldn't touch a mouthful down there if you didn't go, and like enough some other folks couldn't, neither. Mother's gone into tea. Will you come in and ask her, Squire? Couldn't stay, Miss Faith. Silly's looking out for me now. But you can tell. Your mother'll go if you do, or you can go if she don't, you and Miss Danforth. It's good for you now, Miss Faith. The saline breezes are so very—different, said the Squire. When are you going, Mr. Deacon? Soon as we can tackle up after dinner, Silly thought, but fix your own time, Miss Faith. I'll call for you any hour of the twenty-six. Faith hesitated, and pulled a leaf or two from the honey-suckle. Then she spoke boldly. But you forget we have a gentleman here, Squire. We can't go without Mr. Linden. I don't want his help to drive my horse, said the Squire, with a little change of tone. But whoever hinders is going, I don't. The shore's wide, Miss Faith, that don't matter how many gets onto it. There's no chance but it'll go if you ask him. Who wouldn't? said the Squire, relapsing into his former self. We'll come down then some time in the course of the afternoon, said Faith, and see what you are doing. Then I shan't drive you down, shan't I? said Squire Deacon. Never mind. It's no matter. Come when you like, Miss Faith. We'll be glad to see you anyhow." And the Squire closed the little gate after him energetically. Cinderella's in despair, Miss Faith, said Mr. Linden, as Faith entered the dining-room. Miss Danforth, how could you keep Squire Deacon so long and then send him home to supper? It's all your fault, sir, said Miss Danforth cheerfully, and I guess the Squire has got his supper. He must be a man of quick dispatch, said Mr. Linden, while Faith, after a glance to see if her bannocks were right, made her announcement. Mother, there's a shore party to-morrow. Who's going, child? Squire Deacon in Cecilia, and I don't know who else, and he came to ask us. Will you go and take tea with us at the shore, Mr. Linden? Does that mean that my tea is to be transported to the shore, and that I am to go there to find it, Miss Faith? You have a very puzzling way of putting things, said Faith, laughing, though we'll look bore out her words. I don't think it means that. Your tea won't be there before you are, Mr. Linden. Wouldn't you like to go? The Squire says there is room enough on the shore, suggested Miss Danforth. I suppose he wants a good deal for himself, or he wouldn't have thought of it. Perhaps he thinks I want a good deal, said Mr. Linden. Well, in consideration of the width of the shore, I think I will go. Is not that your advice, Miss Faith? What are the pros and cons, if you were to state them fairly? Well, said Faith, you will have a pleasant ride, or walk, down whichever you like. I think it is very pleasant. You can go in the water if you like, which everybody does. There's a beautiful shore, and I suppose that would be pleasant. You'll see all that is pretty about the place, while the people are digging clams and preparing supper, and then you'll have supper, and then we shall come home, and I think it is all pleasant, except that there will be too many people. I like it best with just a few. As if we were to go down there to-night in the moonlight. Now, Miss Faith, what is the other side? Just that, the too many people. There isn't a chance to enjoy anything quietly. I can enjoy the people, too, sometimes, but not the other things at the same time so well. As you can, Mr. London. I can sometimes enjoy the other things at the same time, better. Faith again looked a little puzzled, but answered with a simple, then I daresay you will like it. What I am puzzled about, said he, smiling, is how you are to show me the shore. Miss Danforth, why is that bread-plate so attractive to me, while I am like the reverse end of the magnet to it? But my dear, said Mrs. Derek, for the bread-plate was suggestive. Ain't you going along with the squires-party? I said we would come after, mother. The squire only said there was room on the shore, added Miss Danforth. Is the shore wide enough for us to drive down there? Or must we walk? Asked Mr. London. But you'll eat supper with them, of course, said Mrs. Derek. Of course, mother, the wagon must go, Mr. London, there's room enough for anything. Mr. London made no comment upon that, and finished his tea in comparative silence. Then went forth as was his custom to the post-office, and, as was not his custom, returned very soon. Miss Derek and Miss Danforth had gone out to see a neighbor, and Faith sat alone in the twilight parlor. It was very twilight there, but he walked in, instead waiting for his eyes to discover what there might be. There's nobody here but me, Mr. London, said a very soft and clear voice. Do you want anything? I wanted to see you, and am foiled by the darkness. Are you tired, Miss Faith? Never. I wasn't sitting in the dark for that. Would you object to coming into the light? Not at all, said Faith, laughing. Which way? There is to be a fine illumination to-night, which I should like to have you see. An illumination? Where is it? Shall I want my bonnet? You will be better illuminated without it, but you may perhaps take cold. How do you make your scholars understand you, said Faith? I am sure I must need illuminating. So much that I had better leave my bonnet, Mr. London? I think you may, if you will take some light substitute. Why my scholars are my scholars, Miss Faith. What then, said Faith, stopping short? Why then, I am their teacher. I half-wish I was a scholar too, said Faith, with a tone which filled up the other half. I don't know much, Mr. London. About illuminations? I will promise you some light upon that point. With which encouragement, Faith fetched the scarf which was to do duty for a bonnet, if desired, and they set out. Now, Miss Faith, said her companion as he closed the gate, if you will show me the road, I will show you the shore, which will not at all interfere with your showing it to me to-morrow. The shore, said Faith, to-night, are you an earnest? Very much an earnest. You prefer some other road? No, indeed, it's beautiful, and I like it very much. Cindy, she said to that damsel, whom they opportunely passed at the entrance of the lane, you tell my mother I am gone to take a walk. And so they passed on. The way was down a lane, breaking from the high road of the village, just by Mrs. Derek's house. It was a quiet country lane, passing between fields of grass or grain, with few trees near at hand. There in there a house, small and unnotable, like the trees. Overall the country, the moon, near full, though not high, through a gentle light, revealing to the fancy a less picturesque landscape than the sun would have shown, for there were no strong lines or points to be made more striking by her partial touches, and its greatest beauty lay in the details which she could not light up. The soft and rich colors of grain and grass, the waving tints of broken ground and hillside, were lost now. The flowers and the hedges had shrunk into obscurity. The thrifty and well-to-do order of every field and haystack could hardly be noted, even by one who knew it was there. Only the white, soft glimmer on a wide, pleasant land, the faint lighting of one side of trees and fences, the broader salutation to a house-front, and the deeper shadow which sometimes told of a piece of woodland or a slight hilly elevation. Then all that was passed, and the road descended a little steep to where it crossed by a wooden bridge, a small stream or bed of a creek. Here the moon, now getting up in the sky, did greater execution. The little winding piece of water glittered in silver patches, and its sedgy borders were softly touched out, with the darker outlines of two or three fishing-votes. And so on towards the shore. Now the salt-smell met and mingled with the perfume of woods and flowers, and the road grew more and more sandy. But still the fields waved within the ink-corn were sweet with hay, or furrowed with potatoes. Then the outlines of sundry-framed bathing-houses appeared in the distance, and near them the road came to an end. The shore was improved by the moonlight. Its great rocks, slippery with seaweed, glittered with a wet sheen. The sound wore its diamonds royally, and each tiny wave broken a jeweled light upon the sand. Far in the distance the dim shore of Long Island lay like a black line upon the water, and sloops and schooners sailed softly on their course, or tacked across the rippling waves a fleet of black spirits and white. "'What do you think of the illumination, Miss Faith?' said her companion, when they had sat still for five minutes. "'What do you think of it, I think I should say? Mr. Linden, I have showed you the shore.' "'You?' "'Who else?' "'Were you ever here before by moonlight?' "'I don't know. No, I think not. Were you ever here before at all?' "'Is it owing to you that I am here now?' "'You couldn't have got here without me,' said Faith, stooping to turn over some of the glittering pebbles at her feet. "'And I couldn't have got here without you. I am willing to allow that we are square, Mr. Linden. I must, for you will turn a corner faster than I can catch you.' "'If you really suppose that first proposition to be true,' said Mr. Linden, raising his eyebrows, why, of course, there is no more to be said. Miss Faith, how would you like to be sailing about in one of those phantom ships?' "'I should like it very well,' said Faith, in a good time. I went to Pequod in one once. It was very pleasant. Why do you call them phantoms?' "'Look at that one standing off across the moonlight towards the other shore, gliding along so silently with her black sails all set. Does she look real? You cannot even hear the creaking of a rope.' Faith looked and drew an interrupted deep breath. She had lived in a world of realities. Perhaps this was the first phantom that had ever suggested itself, or been suggested, to her imagination. Possibly something of the same thought crossed her mind, for she drew her breath again a little short as she spoke. "'Yes, it's beautiful. But I live in such a different world, Mr. Linden. I never thought of such a thing before.' He smiled, pleasantly and thoughtfully. "'How came you to see the sunrise colours the other day, Miss Faith?' "'Oh, I see them always. And that puts me in mind of something I have been wanting to say to you every day all the week, and I could never find a chance. You asked me that morning, Mr. Linden, if I was true to my name, finding enough in a cloudy sky. What did you mean? What did you mean by being true to my name?' "'I shall have to use your name a little freely to tell you,' he said. It is Faith's privilege to be independent of circumstances. Faith always finds something wherein to rejoice. If the sky be clear, far into distant worlds she prize, and brings eternal glories near. If cloudy, Faith uses her glass as a prism, and in one little ray of light finds all the colours of the rainbow.' "'I don't know what a prism is,' said Faith somewhat sadly. A prism, in strictness, is a piece of glass cut in a particular way so that the colourless sunbeams which pass through it are divided into their many coloured members. But other things act as prisms. The rain drops in a shower, the lusters upon your church chandelier. You have seen the colours there?' "'Well, how do they do that?' "'I must take some other time to tell you. It would be too long a matter to-night, and I doubt whether you ought to sit here any longer.' "'But this Faith don't do as you say,' she said, as she slowly and rather unwillingly rose from her seat. And I don't understand how any Faith can. This Faith must study the Bible, then, and do what that says. The tone was encouraging, though the voice was grave. He was not answered, and the homeward walk was begun. But Faith stopped and turned again to look before she had gone three paces. "'I am in no hurry,' Mr. Lemon had said. Take your own time. Only do not take cold.' Faith turned away silently again, and began trudging along the sandy road which led back to the lane. The moonlight showed the way better now. Passing on, as they neared home, one house after another showed its glimmer of light, and gave forth its cheerful sound of voices. From one, however, the sound was not cheerful. It was squire deacons. "'Well, you'll see to-morrow, silly, if the sky don't fall. You'll see. Folks think the water down to the shore is mighty deep, lay over their heads till they've made its acquaintance, and then they find out they can raid round and at most anywheres.' "'What's the matter with the squire?' said Faith, with a slight laugh, as these strange statements reached her ears. "'I should think. To use his own phraseology he must be over his head somewhere,' replied Mr. Linden. Where at Faith's laugh deepened, but the low sweet tone of it only sounded an instant. "'My dear,' said Mrs. Derrick, running out as they entered the gate, ain't you very imprudent? Wasn't you very imprudent, Mr. Linden?' "'Very prudent, ma'am, for she wore a shawl.' "'And didn't want that, mother,' said Faith.' End of Volume 1, Chapter 3. Volume 1, Chapter 4. The illumination lasted through the night, until night's candles were burnt out, and Joakun Day stood tiptoe on the misty mountaintops. Every Joakun she looked, with her light pink veils wreathing about the horizon and the dancing white clouds which hurried up as the sun rose driven by a fresh wind. Mr. Linden declared when he came into breakfast that the day promised to equal the preceding night. "'And whoever wants more,' he added, must wait, for I think it will not surpass it. With which Mr. Linden stirred his coffee, and told Miss Danforth with a little look of defiance, it was particularly good, she had better try a cup. Miss Danforth instituted a fierce inquiry as to the direction of the preceding evening's walk, to which Faith gave an unsatisfactory answer. "'Did you ever look at coffee in connection with the fatigues of life?' pursued Mr. Linden. "'I shall probably in future,' said Miss Danforth. Now, Mr. Linden and I ask you, you're a nice man to give a straight answer. Where did you and Faith go?' "'I am glad I am a nice man,' said Mr. Linden, but I can scarce give a straight answer to that question. "'Why not, for pity's sake? It must needs travel a crooked road. Did you?' It has left a meandering sort of recollection in my mind. "'Where did it lead to?' It led to another. "'What I want to know is,' said Miss Danforth, "'where did you find yourselves when you were furthest from home?' "'Let me show you,' said he. "'Suppose you're a plate to be a rock, and this tumbler of radishes a tree, and the tablecloth grass, the moon over your head, crickets under your feet. Miss Faith walks round the rock. I follow her, and we both follow the road. On the way the still night air is enlivened with owls, grasshoppers, family secrets. Our attention is thus divided between the moon and sublunary affairs. Miss Faith, what shall I give you?' Miss Danforth's curiosity seemed for once willing to be satisfied with fun, and Faith's hunger was in the same predicament. "'But child,' said Mrs. Derrick, who had bent her attention upon the diagram at the other end of the table, I don't recollect any such place. "'Mother,' said Faith, and her gravity gave way hopelessly. "'Squire Deacon sends his best compliments of the season,' said Cindy, opening the door a while later, and he says they'll be to take supper precisely at four. I'm free to confess he don't look much sweeter than common,' added Cindy. "'Premise, Faith,' said Mr. Linden, as they left the table. What is the precise depth of water down at the shore?' Faith had very nearly broke down again, for she laughed and blushed, a good deal more than her want, and at last replied that, it depended on how far people went in, she never went very far herself. "'I was naturally curious,' said he. After a dinner somewhat more hasty than usual, Mr. Linden and two of the ladies set off for the shore. The Blackberry Jam, or some other hindering cause, kept Mrs. Derrick at home. The country by daylight looked rich and smooth. At not a very great distance a slight hilly elevation bounded the horizon line, which nearer seen would have been found bristling with stern grey rock, itself a ridge of rock, one of the ribs of the rigid soil. But where the lane led down to the water, fair fields and crops extended on every side, spotted very picturesquely with clumps of woodland. All looked genial in the summer light. If the distant rocks spoke a stubborn soil, the fine growth between said that man had overcome it, and the fine order everywhere apparent said too that the victory had been effectual for man's comfort and prosperity. The stone walls, in some places thin and open, told of times when they had been hurriedly put up. Moss on the rail fences said the rails had been long doing duty. Within them no fields failed of their crops, and no crops wanted hoeing or reading. No straw lay scattered about the ricks, no barric roofs were tumbling down, no gate posts stood sideways, no barnyards showed rigidity outhouses or desolate mangers. No cattle were poor and seemingly no people. It was a pretty ride the party had in the little wagon, behind an old horse that knew every inch of the way, and trotted on as if he were a part of it. "'How do you like Patequacet, Mr. Linden?' said Faith, leaning forward to reach him where he sat alone on the front seat. "'I like it.' "'Well,' he answered, a little musingly. They came to the bridge and stream, and now they could see that Awasi River did not fill its some-time channel but float in a bottom of alluvial soil, rich in bright-colored marsh grass which stretched up the country between two of those clumps of woodland they had seen from a distance. A little further on, just where the sandy road branched off to the shore, there stood a farmhouse with a conglomerate of barns and outhouses, all painted to match, and bright yellow picked out with red. "'Do you see that settlement of farmhouses,' said Faith, leaning forward again, of all sizes and uniform? "'Is it the fashion here to put earmarks on buildings?' he answered with a smile. "'Mr. Linden, you should ask Mr. Simlons that. I see his wagon there, he'll be down at the shore very likely. He's a character. He lives a mile and a half further on, just where the road turns off to Mrs. Summers.' "'Simlons,' was the only reply. "'He's a good sort of man, but he's funny.' "'What is a good sort of man, Miss Faith?' The old horse was walking quietly along the sandy road, and the smell of the salt water was becoming pleasantly perceptible. "'I suppose I mean by it,' said Faith thoughtfully. "'A man who is not very good, but who is on the good side of things.' "'I don't call that a good sort,' said Mr. Linden, then looking round with a little smile, he said. You ought to say, sort of good.' Faith looked serious, and as if she felt half rebuked. "'But,' she said, you would not call that a bad sort? "'Then you mean that he is in the same road with what you call the best people, only not so far advanced?' "'No,' said Faith doubtfully. "'I don't mean so much as that. I don't think Mr. Simlons is in the same road with you.' "'How many best roads are there to the same place? As for instance, does it matter which of these two I take to the shore?' "'Only one leads to the shore,' said Faith. "'Yet they seem to lie near together at the outset. The same is true of the other shore.' Faith sat back in her place with a face exceedingly unlike a young lady who was going to a merry-making. But they were near the shore now. Not only the salt-smell proclaimed it, but they could see the various bathing and other houses collected at the place, and the flag which floated high from the flagstaff, telling all who were not concerned that it was a gala day. A piece of ground immediately surrounding these buildings was fenced in, as they neared the gate it was open for them, and a tall farmer-looking man whose straw hat shaded a sensible face, nodded as they passed. "'That is Mr. Simlons,' said Faith. "'Mr. Simlons seemed for the present to be king of the castle. There were and wagons standing here and there, and one or two oldish faces looked out from the windows of one long shady, but the rest of the birds had flown into the water. It was the time of low tide, and the long strips of rippling water which lay one beyond the other were separated by sand-banks nearly as long. In these little tide-lakes for the bathers, the more timid near shore, taking almost a sand-bath, the more adventurous going further and further out till the last party bathed beyond the last sand-bank. Not dressed in the latest Cape May fashion, nor the latest fashion of any kind, for each had brought some dress too old to be hurt with salt-water. Calico frocks of every hue and pattern, caps, handkerchiefs, sun-bonnets, gave additional force to the cries and shouts and screams which were wafted in shore. But when they began to come in, and when the bathing-dresses were hung on the fence to dry, and when mermaid-visions appeared at the windows, who shall describe the scene then? Overall a blue smoke now began to curl and float, rising from the stove-pipe of the eating-house. Mr. Linden had driven up to one of the fence-posts, and fastening his horse stood awhile watching the show till the bathers began to draw in from the water, then helped the ladies out. Which of these baskets contains my tea, Miss Faith? he said. I feel a particular interest in that basket. Perhaps your tea is in some other basket, said Faith, but both of these must come into the eating-house. Oh, thank you, Mr. Linden! The eating-house was a long shanty, built for the express purpose of feasting picnic and other parties. At one end of it, within the house, was a well of excellent water. At the other end, a door opened into a cooking-house which held a stove, and through the length of the apartment a narrow table of boards was erected, ready to be covered with any description and any succession of tablecloths. In this room Mr. Linden, with Faith's help, deposited her baskets, while Miss Danforth looked on. At the door of the shanty coming out they met Mr. Simlins. Faith made the introductions. Happy to have your acquaintance, said Mr. Simlins. This is a piece of pate-quasset, sir, that we all of us rather cordially like. You haven't seen it before? Yes, I don't wonder you like it, said Mr. Linden. The seashore is no novelty to me, sir. Such a shore-party is. I hope you'll enjoy it as the rest of us do. We all do as we like, Mr. Linden. I hope you'll use the grounds as your own. We have the flag flying, sir, and it ratifies liberty to all who amuse themselves under it. Mr. Linden looked up at the stars and stripes, with an acknowledging smile for the benefits thereby conferred. Faith! Faith! Derek! Called out half a dozen mermaids from the bathing-house, and Faith was obliged to go, while her companions walked up the green slope, and entered into a deep discussion of the crops and the weather. A while after, when Faith was busy about the supper-table, twenty young voices chiming around her, another voice that she did not know spoke close at her elbow. Miss Faith! I am Ruben Taylor. Mr. Linden told me to come to you and make myself useful. Is there anything I can do? Would you like some round clamps? Father's out there in the boat. The earnest eyes said how gladly he would do anything. Who is your father? Said Faith, a little surprised. My father's a fisherman. The very thing, said Faith, if you'll help me roast him, Ruben. I guess nobody else will want to do it, but I'd just as leave. Can you have him here quickly, and I'll see and have the stove ready? Oh, I'll fetch him, and roast him too, Miss Faith. I'm used to it. He added, with a half-bashful, half-admiring glance at her face. Faith had the fire ready by the time Ruben returned with the clams. The kettle was on to boil, and nothing else was wanted of the fire, as it happened by anybody, least of all to roast clams, that necessarily making a kitchen prisoner of the roaster. So Faith and her new co-agitor had the field, i.e., the cooking house, all to themselves. Miss Danforth was to leave Patequacid in a day or two, and was busy talking to everybody. Readily the clams opened their shells on the hot stove top. Savorily the odor of steaming clam juice spread itself abroad, but Faith and Ruben were in for it, and nobody else cared to be in. So when Miss Cecilia Deacon had finished her toilet, which was somewhat of the longest, as it had been one of the latest, she found nobody but her brother to apply to on the score of her hostess duties. Sam, said the young lady pinching her brother's arm, I haven't been introduced to Mr. Linden. He'll keep, was the encouraging reply. Yes, but supper won't. See, Sam, I haven't been introduced to him, and I must. The squire nodded his head politely and began to whistle. Come, you Sam, you've got to, and in a hurry. I can't find Faith or I'd make her. Well, I can't find him, said the squire petishly. I haven't gotten neither of them in my pocket, nor the crown in my hat, he added, taking off that useful article of dress for the express purpose of looking into it. My deliberate judgment is to have supper. Don't be a goose, Sam, what's the use of asking him if you didn't mean to conduct yourself? Didn't ask him. Who did? I didn't hear anybody, was the squire's reply. Don't you mean to introduce me, Sam Deacon? Said his sister in a tone which was rather over the verge of patience. Jim Williams, said the squire, calling up a spruce embodiment of blue cloth, brass buttons, and pink cravat. I say, here's silly, off the hooks to get hold of the new teacher. Whereabouts do you suppose he is? Really, squire, said Jim Williams with a silly little laugh. I couldn't testify. Reckon he knows Miss Sillard keep hold of him if she got a chance. Shant speak to you in a month, Jim, said the lady with the toss of her head, and some heightening of the really pretty color in her cheeks. You may fix it as you have a mind to among you and let anybody that likes bring him into supper. I'm going in out of the way myself. Wither she went, on the spur, as good as her word, nor showed her pretty face again outside. Meanwhile Rubin and Faith had worked on through their basket of clams, and now the last were sputtering on the stove. The work had been done almost in silence, for though the excitement now and then made Rubin break into a low whistle of some tune or other, he always checked himself the next moment with a very apologetic look. For the rest, if he had not done all the work himself, it certainly was not his fault. Now, watching quietly the opening shells of that last dozen of clams, Rubin remarked, I hope Mr. Lyndon won't forget about supper. Why, what about it, said Faith? Why should he forget? Or what if he does? The last sentence seemed to puzzle Rubin. I don't know, ma'am, he said. It's better before everybody eats it up. Who's going to eat it up, said Faith? Where is he? He went down on the sands with me, said Rubin, but he didn't come up again. Maybe he has now. He liked it down there real well. Faith went to the shutter window and flung it open and looked to see whether or no the missing gentleman had returned to the shore. It was a fair view that lay spread before her. The low beams of the sun gave a cool afternoon look to everything, the sloop sails shone and gleamed in the distance, down by the mussel rocks one little boat lay rocking on the advancing tide, which was fast covering the sandbanks and connecting the strips of water, and the freshening breeze curled the little waves as they came dancing in and brought a low, sweet murmur to the shore. One or two goals sailed floatingly about, and a brown mink, perceiving that the company had retreated the higher ground, came out and aired himself on one of the rocks. But Faith saw none of these things, for in swinging open her shutter, which the wind caught and clapped up against the house, she so nearly swung it against Mr. Linden that her first look was a startled one. Miss Faith, he said, turning round, what can you possibly be about? I beg your pardon, Mr. Linden, said Faith. Is that all you are about? You were anxious about your supper, Mr. Linden. Are you ready for it? Much more ready than anxious, Miss Faith. How do you like the shore today? Said Faith, dropping her voice, and giving a glance of her eye to the fair, cool, sunlight colors on the water and shore and shipping, fresh as the very sea breeze itself and glittering as the water's thousand mirrors could make them. He turned and looked again, drawing in the breeze with a deep breath that more than answered her question. How do you like this? He said, handing her through the window a little miniature tree of red seaweed. Then, while she examined it, he repeated, when descends on the Atlantic, the gigantic, storm wind of the equinox, landward in his wrath he scourges the toiling surges laden with seaweed from the rocks, from Bermuda's reefs, from edges of sunken ledges, and some far off bright as ore, from Bahama and the dashing, silver-flashing surges of San Salvador, from the tumbling surf that buries the Orkney and Scaries, answering the horse hybrids, and from wrecks of ships and drifting spars uplifting on the desolate rainy seas, ever drifting, drifting, drifting on the shifting currents of the restless Maine, till in sheltered coves and reaches of sandy beaches all have found repose again. Once I was upon the sprig of seaweed while these verses were repeating, then she looked up at the speaker with an intenseness in which oddly mingled some strong feeling of sorrow or regret. It's beautiful, she said, beautiful, both the one and the other. But there are a great many things there I don't understand." She added once more with a smile. If there was time, but there isn't, Mr. Lyndon Rubin and I have been roasting clams. Yes, Miss Faith, he said, answering the smile and stepping near the window, so one of my senses informed me. Do you know what that is in your hand? It's seaweed, isn't it? Yes. And moreover, Miss Faith, that is part of your marine flora. Now what about the clams? My what? Said Faith. First, tell me, please, what you said. Your marine flora. What is that? The particular department of life in the sea of which this is a specimen. Faith looked puzzled and amused. You don't mean to enlighten me any more than you can help, she said. But why do you call it flora? You used that word before. And oh, Mr. Lyndon, you can't tell me now for suburbs already. His eyes looked amused, too, and laying a cloverhead on the window, he said, that is part of your land, flora. Then pushed the shutter, too, rather quick but softly, and Faith heard the reason thereof as follows. Well, sir, if this be you, I've looked all over for you. How was it that you overlooked me then, sir? was Mr. Lyndon's reply. Don't just know, laughed Jim Williams, but Miss Silly Deacon wants you the worst kind. And where shall I go to receive her commands? said Mr. Lyndon. Faith heard their retreating steps, and turning to take off her apron, saw the dish of hot clams still on the stove, and that Ruben had removed himself outside the door, quite beyond the conversation, but not beyond call. He stood looking thoughtfully out toward the muscle rocks. Oh, Ruben, there you are, come, said Faith. You're going in with me. You're going to have some supper tonight, whoever else does. You open the door, and I'll take in this dish. You keep by me, Ruben. Please let me take the dish, then, Miss Faith. I can open the door first. But Faith had her own way, and followed by Ruben carried the clams into the supper room, where some of the company were already seated, and others stood waiting. Squire Deacon had not only given the desired introduction, but had, self-denyingly, placed Mr. Lyndon next Miss Silly at the table where he stood. Here's a contribution, said Faith, if somebody'll make a place for it. Thank you, Mr. Deacon. Now, Ruben, come here. And refusing more than one offer of a place at the table, Faith made her way down to the well end, where there was room for two, at a remote distance from the tea and coffee. What else was there not upon that table? Won't you take a seat, Mr. Lyndon? said Miss Cecilia. I hope you've got room there. Gerusci can't you shove down a little? I hope my coffee pot's not disagreeable. I hope not, said Mr. Lyndon, surveying the coffee pot. How long does it take to declare itself Miss Deacon? Oh, it won't do anything but spout coffee, said the young lady, if you don't mind that. Won't you be helped to what you like, Mr. Lyndon? I hope you have enjoyed our shore party this afternoon. Thank you, said Mr. Lyndon, feeling perhaps that it was not their party he had enjoyed. There has been a combination of pleasant things. As far as I could judge, the bathers enjoyed their particular expedition. Oh, yes, it was delightful, invigorating. Mr. Lyndon's I think Mr. Lyndon will like a piece of that cherry pie with his clams. Do you take cheese, Mr. Lyndon, is your coffee agreeable? There's the cold tongue by you, Gerusci. I hope you like patequacid. Asked Mr. Lyndon whether patequacid ain't a good place for handsome gals, said Mr. Lyndon, as he handed over the piece of cherry pie. He knows by this time. I say there's a concatenation of beauty now here this afternoon. If you look from the top to the bottom of the table now, ain't it true, sir?" Mr. Lyndon certainly looked from the top to the bottom of the table, and then setting the plate of cherry pie as far from his clams as he could, he said, "'Mr. Eakin, let me help you. Tell me where these cups belong, and I will convey them to their destination.' I thought they'd shove down somehow, said the young lady. Gerusci do pass the coffee. There for anybody down there who'll take coffee, tea'll be along presently,' added Mr. Celia, raising her voice a little to give the information. Don't you trouble yourself, Mr. Lyndon?' But Mr. Lyndon secured one, and carrying it down to faith, requested her to stir it and taste it, and not give him the trouble of coming back with the sugar-bowl. "'What will you have?' he said, while she obeyed his directions. Here are all the pies that can be thought of except the musical one recorded in history.' "'And so,' said Faith, with a laughing flash for usually soft eye, "'you immediately give me a desire for the one not here. It's like you, Mr. Lyndon. No thank you. I'll have none of these. Mr. Rubin has a desire for some of the clams he and I have roasted. I'm afraid I cannot get them away from Squire Deacon,' he said. But I'll try.' The Squire, however, held fast to the dish, and rising from his place midway at the table, insisted upon taking it to faith himself. "'Miss Faith,' he said, "'you have ruined my supper by sitting down here. My appetite is quite forsaken me, whereupon Jem Williams observed that warn't strange. And the worst is,' added the Squire, "'I can't maintain the constant supervision of your plate which my feelings prompt. I am too far off,' he concluded, in a melancholy tone. "'I say, Squire,' said Jem Williams, "'you bain't mourn as far again as he,' with a nod towards the upper end of the table. Squire Deacon lowered, but for the present his feelings were restrained. "'Mr. Simlins,' said Endicott, when he had resumed his seat, "'I ask you, as one who knows the country, whereabouts does the concatenation you spoke of reach a climax?' "'The star you look at is always the brightest,' said the farmer. "'I think the clams is the best thing at table, or near the best,' with a slight glance towards Squire Deacon and the dish at the well end. "'I have a legendary attachment to beauty, sir. My father married the three prettiest wives in the country.' "'I say, Squire,' said Jem Williams, "'Mr. Simlins says you're hot.' "'Hot,' said Squire Deacon, flushing up very much and setting down the clams. "'That dish is—I'm as cool as all these cucumbers accumulated into a heap.' "'Hope you'll stay where you are, then,' said Mr. Simlins. "'I'm cool, too. Don't come near me, or we shall be in a state of concentration.' Mr. Linden remarked that that was an excellent point when reached. "'What point?' said Squire Deacon, who would return to his seat with the strong impression that everybody was laughing at him under the special guidance of the new teacher. "'You know mighty little of the points round here, I tell you.' "'The point of concentration is found in various places, sir,' said Mr. Linden, though I grant you, it is rare.' "'What do you know about Patecquasset points?' repeated the squire. "'Or Patecquasset people, or Patecquasset water, either, for that matter. Just you go down here when the tide's in, and before you know where you are, you'll find yourself waiting round over your head.' "'No, sir, never,' said Mr. Linden, with great assurance. "'Why not? How are you going to help it?' said Squire Deacon. "'When I reach that point,' said Mr. Linden, I shall swim.' "'And faith heard Ruben Taylor's smothered laugh of great gratification.' "'Hope you haven't spoiled your own supper, Squire,' said Mr. Simlins, by your complacency and caring about them hot clams. Have something this way?' While this question was getting its answer, Faith sat back in her chair and looked up and down the length of the table. It presented a distinguished after supper view, but the demands of the company had not yet ceased. Mr. Simlins was still discussing cheese and politics. Jim Williams was deep in cherry pie. Plumcake was not out of favour with the ladies. The squire was hard at work at his supper, which had been diversely and wickedly interrupted. He was making up for lost time now, while his sister, much disengaged, was bending her questions and smiles on Mr. Linden. Faith tried to see Mr. Linden, but she couldn't. He was leaning back from the table, and her eyes went out of doors. It was too fair and sweet there to be cooped up from it. The sun had just set. Faith could not see the water. The windows of the eating-house looked landward, but the air which came in at them said where it had come from, and breathed the salt freshness of the sea into her face. But presently every chair was pushed back, and now there was no more silence nor quiet. The busy swarm poured out of the supper room, the men to lounge or tackle their horses, the women to gather up the bathing-dresses from the fence, to look round, laugh, and go in again to pack up the dishes. It would seem that this last might be a work of time, each had to find her own through such a maze of confusion. There was a spoon of Miss Cecilia's providing in a cup of Mrs. Derrick's beside a plate of Mrs. David's, and before a half-eaten cherry pie which had been compounded in the distant home and by the fair fingers of Miss Jerusia Fax. However, most people know their own, at least, and as on the present occasion nobody had any particular desire to meddle with what was not her own, the difficulty was got through with. Pockets and hampers were packed again and stowed in their respective wagons, and everybody was bidding good-bye to everybody. Noisy thanks and praises fell liberally to the share of Miss Cecilia and her brother, and the afternoon was declared to have been splendid. CHAPTER V For some weeks the little town of Patequacet held on its peaceful way as usual. Only summer passed into harvest, and harvest gave way to the first blush of autumn, and still the mong flowed quietly along, and the kill-dears sang fearlessly. For even tenor and happy spirits the new teacher and his scholars were not unlike the smooth river and its feathered visitors. Whatever the boys were taught they certainly learned to be happy, and Mr. Linden's popularity knew no bounds in his own domain. Neither did it end there. Those fair members of the Patequacet Society who thought early walks good for their health felt their sleepy eyes well-paid for keeping open when they met Mr. Linden. Those who were fond of evening expeditions declared that his figure in the twilight was quite a picture and made them feel so safe—a great slander, by the way, on Patequacet. Mr. Simlins was his firm friend and many another known and unknown. Squire Deacon, I regret to say, was an exception. Squire Deacon declared, confidentially, that he never had thought the new teacher fit for his business know-how. As far as he could hear Mr. Linden never taught school before, and in that case what could you expect? Moreover, said the Squire, I am creditably informed that the first day he kept school here he began by asking the boys who made them, as if that had anything to do with geography. Of course it's natural for a man to ask when he knows he can answer if the boys don't, added Squire Deacon in the way of kind explanation. Whereupon, Jonathan Fax, the Squire's right-hand man, requested to be informed why, if a man was poor, didn't he dress as though he felt so, and why, if he weren't rich, did he act as though he were? And thus, by degrees, there was quite an opposition party in Patec Quasset, if that could be opposition, which the object of it never opposed. By degrees, too, the murmurs became more audible. Faith, child, said Mrs. Derrick in a cautious whisper, coming out where Faith sat on the porch, bathed in the late September light. Faith, child, where's our Linden tree? Mrs. Derrick thought she had concealed her meaning now, if anybody did, over here. Faith started. More than so gentle a question seemed to call for. He's gone down to the post-office, mother. Her mother stood still and thought. Child, she said, I never thought we had any fools in our town before. I didn't know there were so many, said Faith. What new mother? Child, she said, you know more than I about some things. What do you suppose fools can do? Isn't he a whole tree of knowledge? There's no fear of him, mother, Faith said with a smile, which, if the subject of it valued any faith in the world but his own, would have gratified him to see. They can't touch him. They may vex him. Mrs. Derrick shook her head softly behind Faith's chair, then turned and went back into the house, not caring as it seemed to spread the vexation. Then after a little interval of bird music the gate opened to admit Ruben Taylor. He held a bunch of water, at least, drooping their fair heads from his hand. His own head drooped a little too. Then he raised it and came firmly on. Is Mr. Linden home, Miss Faith? No, Ruben. He will be directly, I guess. Do you want to see him? No, said Ruben. I don't know, as I do, more than usual. I have seen him all day. He wanted some palm-billies, Miss Faith, at least he told me to bring them. Maybe it was you wanted them. I'll give them to him, Ruben. What's the matter with you? But Ruben stood silent, perhaps from the difficulty of speaking. Miss Faith, he said at last, is Squire Deacon all the trustees of our school, besides Mr. Summers? No. Why? What about it? He's doing all the mischief he can, said Ruben concisely. What mischief has he done, Ruben? said Faith, waiting upon the boy's answer with an anxious face. Well, said Ruben, as if he could not put it in plain words. He's trying to turn folks' heads, and some heads is easy-turned. How do you know this? And whose head has he turned, Ruben, not yours? They'd have to turn my heart, Miss Faith, was Ruben's subdued answer. Then he looked up and listened, hearing a step he well knew. Nor that alone, for a few low notes of a sweet hymn tune seemed to say there were pleasant thoughts within reach of at least one person. Then Ruben broke forth. They can't keep him out of heaven, anyway, nor me neither. He added softly. But he ran down the steps and out of the gate, passing his teacher with only a bow, and once beyond the fence Ruben's head dropped in his hands. Ruben, I want you, said Mr. Linden. But Ruben was out of sight. Faith stood between the house and the gate. Where is he? Can't you make him here? I want that boy, she said. I can run after him, with doubtful success. The foolish fellow brought these for you, Mr. Linden, said Faith, giving the lilies where they belonged. Complementary, Miss Faith, said Mr. Linden, taking the lilies and smelling them gravely. He is, said Faith, and you speak as if I wasn't. Will it redeem my character, or Ruben's, if I bestow the lilies upon you, Miss Faith? I think that was their destination. Faith took the lilies back again, with a slight smile and a flash, and stood attentively turning them over for a while. Then suddenly she said, Thank you. What did you want of Ruben Taylor, said Mr. Linden? Cannot I do as well? I should be sorry to think you wanted Mr. Linden what I wanted to give him. That sounds terrific, but Ruben is under my jurisdiction. I don't allow anybody to scold him but myself, so deliver it to me, Faith, and I will give it to him, duly pointed and sharpened up. No, said Faith, smiling. You couldn't do it so well as I. I wanted to say two words to him to put Nonsense out of his head. Nonsense, said Mr. Linden looking grave. I am as anxious on that point as you can be. What Nonsense has he got in his head? Faith hesitated, flushed and paled a little, and looked at her lilies. I don't know whether I ought to speak of it, she began, with much less than her usual composure of speech. Perhaps it is not my business. Please forgive me if I speak wrong. But I have to think you ought to know it. I'll try to bear the knowledge, he said smiling, if you will promise to speak the capitalistic two words that were to have such an effect upon Ruben. So you want to put Nonsense into my head, Miss Faith? Perhaps you know it already, said Faith. At any rate I think I should feel better satisfied if you did know it. Mr. Linden, she said speaking low. Do you know that Squire Deacon has been trying to do you, mischief? Just suppose for a moment that you were one of my scholars and give me a definition of mischief. To judge by the unbent lines of Faith's brow there was nothing very disagreeable to her in the supposition, yet she had a look of care for the definition, too. When a man is meaning to do harm, isn't he doing mischief? Only to himself. But do you mean that one can't do harm to others in this world? You said when a man is meaning to do harm. Ah, said Faith laughing, I should want a great deal of teaching before I could give a definition that would suit you. Well, then isn't harm mischief? I'm afraid I must yield that point. Then, said Faith simply, but very modestly, we come back to where we started from. What shall we do there? Said he, smiling. Nothing, perhaps, said Faith with the same simplicity. I only thought it right to put you there, Mr. Linden. Thank you, Miss Faith. Now will you please pronounce over me the two words intended for Ruben? Faith laughed a little, but then said gravely, Mr. Linden, I should be very sorry to think you needed them. It's impossible always to avoid being very sorry. I want them at all events. Haven't you just been putting nonsense into my head? Have I? Said Faith. Do you suppose there was any there before? I don't think, said Faith, surveying his face. There is much there now. I guess you don't need the two words, Mr. Linden. I was going to tell Ruben he was a goose for thinking that that man could hurt you. His face changed a little. Poor Ruben, he said. Then with the former look. On the whole perhaps it was well he did not come back. If you put those in water they will open their eyes to-morrow. Fresh water, not salt. He added as he followed her into the house. They are not part of the marine flora. Tea was ready with its usual cheer of eatables and pleasant faces, not quite with its usual flow of talk. Mrs. Derrick certainly had something bewildering on her mind, for she even looked at her guests two or three times when he was looking at her. The Palm Lilies were alone in the twilight parlor. That was perhaps the reason why Lucinda introduced Parson Summers into the tea-room, the parson happening to call at this identical time. Parson Summers was always in a genial state of mind, always at least whenever he came into Mrs. Derrick's parlor. By the testimony of numbers it was the same in many other parlors. He came in so now, gave a smile all round, and took an empty chair in place at the table like one who found it pleasant. Well, I declare Mrs. Derrick," said Mr. Summers when he was seated. I don't think there's a—a more cheerful room in Patequasse than this one, why you always have everything agreeable here—a cup of tea now I didn't expect it. Why, we always do have tea, Mr. Summers," said Mrs. Derrick, but it don't seem strong to-night, though Cindy take the teapot and make some fresh. These baked apples are strong, in numbers, at least," said Mr. Linden, as he bestowed one upon Mr. Summers. Thank you, it's all strong enough, Mrs. Derrick, thank you, very good, and Mr. Linden, how are you, uh, getting along with your juvenile charge? Confining work, sir, isn't it? Thank you, sir, to the body. Not to the mind, eh? Well, I should have thought that to a gentleman like you it would prove, uh, more deleterious to the mental faculties, but I suppose you find yourself rewarded by your pupil's improvement and—regard. Yes, sir, their regard is very precious to me," was the quiet reply. I should think so. Why, there's that boy Ruben Taylor—strange father that boy has—Fisherman—I met that boy this evening in the street and he was crying, down a little below here. He was going home. I asked him, uh, if Mr. Linden had been dealing hardly with them, and I declare I didn't know but Ruben would have attacked me on the spot. Has Mr. Linden a character in the village for cruelty? Said Faith. I—I declare, not that I know of Miss Faith, I should think it could not be deserved. That boy's attachment is certainly, uh, very warm. My dear Mrs. Derrick, how well Miss Faith is looking. She always looks well, but tonight, uh, the color of her cheeks is to be remarked. You will get a character for cruelty, Miss Faith, said Mr. Linden, if you ask about my character before my face. Faith looked up as if she would willingly have asked a question, but that being in present circumstances impossible, she merely uttered a quiet little, no, and went on with her tea and with the color still further improved. A quiet little, yes, of about equal prominence did not divert the attention of Mr. Summers from his own remarks. It's delightful to see, really, said that gentleman, but Mr. Linden, ha, I am sorry to find that you haven't the goodwill of our neighbor, Squire Deacon. The Squire is a valuable man, Vary. The Squire is a valuable man in the town. I am sorry. Do you know, Mr. Linden, ha, how it has happened? Have you asked the Squire himself, sir? Said Mr. Linden. Why? No, sir, I haven't. I, uh, wanted to get at the truth of it that I might, if possible, do something to heal the breach. Now, you are doing a valuable work in Patequasset, sir. I should be sorry to see it interrupted, Vary, and I thought the best way would be to try to find out what the matter was, in order, if possible, to it's being removed, and to get at the truth that is often best to hear both sides. But I have no side to tell, sir, said Mr. Linden, smiling in spite of himself. I cannot deny that Squire Deacon seems to withhold his goodwill. I think it is for him to tell his reasons. Then you really have no idea what it can be about, and I might tell him so, because that would be a great point. No, sir, you may not tell him that. Then you have an idea what the matter is? Said Mr. Summers eagerly. Then, sir, if you will be so good as to let me know what it is. I have no doubt. I entertain no doubt. We shall be able to smooth it all away and have peace." You cannot prove one man's ideas by another man's, said Mr. Linden. Then you can give me no help, said Mr. Summers regretfully. But Mr. Linden, ha, it strikes me that it would be useful for me to know your view of the cause of offense, whatever it is, before I know his, one may correct the other. There has been no offense given, sir, said Mr. Linden, that the squire has taken offense we both know. Why he has taken it? If I know, I have no right to tell you. Squire Deacon might justly complain of me if I did. It is from no disrespect to you, believe me. I say, said Cindy, coming into the room with a basket. Here's Sam Stoutenberg bent and fetched some Stoutenberg sweetenings for his teacher, he says. I'm free to confess, added Cindy, as she sat down the basket by Mr. Linden. He said if he would like to do anything better with him it would just be to shy him at Squire Deacon's head, so I guess they ain't over and above right. Ha! Very pleasant, certainly. Very gratifying, said Mr. Summers rising. Mr. Linden, I have no more to say. You are a gentleman, sir, and understand these matters. I will see what I can do. Mrs. Derrick, I thank you for your tea, ma'am. I'm sorry there should be anything disagreeable. But I have no doubt it will all be set right. The squire is a good feeling, ma'am. I have no doubt of it. Miss Faith, why, Mrs. Derrick, this color is too deep. It isn't natural. It looks feverish. Do the Patequisite ladies use any rouge but their own sea breezes? asked Mr. Linden. How we do get the sea breezes here, pleasantly? answered Mr. Summers. Good evening. Mr. Linden accompanied the visitor to the little gate, and returning, paced up and down the moonlit porch, followed only by his shadow. End of Chapter 5 Volume 1 Chapter 6 of Say and Seal by Susan and Anna Warner While Mr. Summers was enjoying his cup of unexpected tea at Mrs. Derrick's, Squire Deacon and Miss Silly had a sociable tete-tete over theirs. For Joe Deacon, who was in the full enjoyment of some fourteen years of boyhood, scarcely made a third in the conversation until his appetite was satisfied. Conversation indeed hardly existed during the first portion of the meal. Miss Silly poured out her tea and broke her biscuit with a certain prim sort of elegance which belonged to that young lady, as at least she believed. But sipping tea and nibbling biscuit went on in company with thoughts. Sam, what are you bothering yourself about Mr. Linden for? How long since you was made a trustee, said the Squire, beginning his sentence with an untranslatable sort of grunt and ending it in his teacup. Give us the sugar bowl down this way, silly, said Joe. This applesauce is as sour as sixty. I've been your trustee ever since you was up to anything, said his sister. Come, Sam, don't you begin now. What's made you so crusty? It ain't the worst thing to be crusty, said the Squire, while Joe started up and seized the sugar bowl. Shows a man's moron half-baked, anyhow. Miss Silly vouched safe to rather sour smile to these manifestations of disposition on the part of both her brothers. Well, what has he done? Sure enough, said the Squire, he kept his small stock of big words for company. What has he done? That's just what I can't find out. What do you want to find out for? What ails him? Suppose he hasn't done nothing, said the Squire. Is that the sort of man to teach the literature in Patec Quasset? Lit what, said his sister, with an arch of her head? Anything you've a mind to, said the Squire, silkily. I wouldn't say anything against Mr. Linden's literature if I was you, because it's my belief, Sam. It'll sand any pecking you make at it. What's given you such a spite at him? You're a good-natured fellow enough in general. The whole temperature of Patec Quasset's come about since he come, replied the Squire comprehensively. He's a gentleman, said Miss Silly, bridling again. He won't hurt anybody's manners, not the best if they was to copy him. He didn't hurt mine, said Joe patronizingly, to be sure I didn't go to him long. Do the boys like him, Joe? Well, I daresay they wouldn't if they could help it, said Joe, if that's any comfort. Some other folks like him, too, besides Sam. Ain't he a good teacher? First straight, said Joe, taught me all I ever learned. I didn't go but four weeks, and Sam thought twarn't no use for me to hold on any longer. Why, silly, he'd make you roll up your eyes and arithmetic. Now, Sam Deacon, what do you expect to do by all this fuss you're making? said his sister judicially. What's the use of cross-examining a man at that rate, said the Squire restlessly? When I do anything, you'll know it. You'll make yourself a fool one of these fine mornings, that's what I count upon, said Miss Cecilia. He's a match for you, I have a presentiment, Sam. He won't be for you, said the Squire, with some heat. There's Mr. Simlins going along, said Joe, who, having finished his supper, was gazing out of the window. Oh, my, if he was cut up into real Simlins, is what a many there be! You hush, Joe, said his sister wrathfully, he's coming in. And Mr. Simlins' tall figure did indeed come through the gate and up the walk, from which a very few more steps and minutes brought him to the tea-table. Well, Mr. Simlins, said Miss Cecilia, as she gave him his cup, you've got back. I heard you were returned. Yes, said the farmer, deliberately stirring his tea, I've got back, and I'm glad for one. I've been visiting my relations in New Jersey, and I've made up my mind that the Simlins has made a good move when they come to Connecticut. You've found them all well, said Miss Cecilia politely. Well, no, I didn't, said Mr. Simlins. How's a man to find five hundred and fifty people all well, taint nature? How's things with you, Squire? We'd stun well, corn middling, replied the Squire, while Joe got behind his sister's chair and whispered, There's another name in the dictionary, sound like your own, though they ain't spelled just like. Going to school, Joe, growled Mr. Simlins. No sir, said Joe, Mr. Linden, teached me all he knowed in a jiffy, and all I know, too. Well, have the other boys learned yet? said Mr. Simlins, as he spread a slice of bread pretty thick with butter. Suppose so, said Joe, all they can. It's hard work, said Mr. Simlins, I feel it now, never plowing made my back ache like learning. I wonder whatever they made me school trustee for, seein' I hate it like pison, but suppose we mustn't quarrel with honorous duties, said the farmer, carrying on sighing and bread and butter and tea very harmoniously together. I shouldn't mind takin' a look at your last copybook, Joe, if it would be agreeable. Oh, Mr. Linden kept that, said Joe unblushingly, because it was so good-lookin'. He was so fond of you, said Mr. Simlins, how come he'd let you go? I stayed away, said Joe, drumming on the back of Mrs. Celia's chair. Celia's got the rest of the copybooks, she likes the right-and-do. Joe, behave yourself, said his sister. Mr. Simlins knows better than to believe you. Do you ever get flogged, Joe, for bad writin', said the farmer? Worse than that, said Joe, shaking his head, I've had to do it over. Now you've got to do it over for me, said Mr. Simlins. You write your name for me there, the best you can, and Pataquacic Connecticut. I want to see what the new school's up to. No, said Joe. I ain't a goin' to do it. You ask one of the other boys. It wouldn't tell you nothin' if I did, because I learned to write a four. And I didn't go to him but four weeks besides. And Joe at once absented himself. Is it workin' as straight with all the rest of him as it is with him? said Mr. Simlins. You and me's got to see to it, you know, Squire, seein' we're honorary individuals. Yes, said Squire Deacon, rousing up now Joe was gone. He had a wholesome fear of Joe's tongue. Yes, Mr. Simlins, and it's my belief it wants seein' to, and he too. Joe, said Mr. Simlins, never fear, he'll see to himself. Here's some of his writin', said Joe, returning with a spelling book. All the boys get him to write in their books. And laying it down by Mr. Simlins, Joe took his final departure. What do the boys want him to write in their books for? growled Mr. Simlins, surveying the signature. I believe, said Mrs. Celia, he is very popular in the school. Well, Squire, pursued Mr. Simlins, can Joe clinch this? He ain't with me if that's what you mean, said Squire Deacon. A man's writing don't prove much. Don't go no further, said Mr. Simlins, ascendingly. Well, Squire, if you'll go further, I shall be wiser. And freed from the fear of contradiction, the Squire had not the least objection to going further. He's not the man to have here, said Squire Deacon. I saw that the first day I saw him. I tried him. And he didn't tow the mark. How did you try him? growled Mr. Simlins. I'd like to know how much he's up to. I ain't found it out yet. I tried him, sir, said the Squire. I tried him with a classical story. Now Miss Faith gave in at once and said she didn't know what it was. But the other one made believe as though he knew all about it. And if a man ain't classical, Mr. Simlins, what is he? I ain't classical, growled Mr. Simlins again. But then I don't set up for to be. I suppose that makes a different Squire, don't it? Some people's more than they set out to be and some people's less, replied the Squire. Well, does he set up for to be classical in school? What does he teach him? I reckon he sets up for most everything he ever heard spoke of, Mr. Simlins. Teach him why he teaches him out of all sorts of superfluous books. Does, said Mr. Simlins, with a surprised look. Our boys don't want none of your superfaces. They've got their bread to make. Give us an invoice of them books, Squire. At least you look at them for yourself, Mr. Simlins. Then you'll know. Step down there some day in school time and look over the boys. Now I can understand figures with any man, but what's the use of crosses and straight lines and Vs turned wrongside up? Mr. Simlins pushed back his chair and rubbed his chin. Well, Squire, you and me are trustees. What in your judgment and opinion had we ought to do in these precedents? Get rid on him, I say, replied the Squire promptly. There he is, leading all the girls round town, and for all any one of them knows he's a married man. I think so. What do the folks say of him? said Mr. Simlins. There's Mrs. Derek. What does she say of him? He's in her house. She ought to have an ID. In faith, now, I'd take that gal's judgment on most anything. What do they think about him, Squire? Never asked him a word, said the Squire stoutly, and I heard him say one, neither, but he gets fur and letters all the time Widow Stamps says and female writing, too. Who knows, but he's got a wife in some fur and country, or two, added the Squire without specifying where the pleural belonged. I'm a justice of peace, Mr. Simlins, and this shouldn't be let go on. Mr. Simlins looked up from under his brows with a queer look at his host. If he has two, he must want the school bad, said he. Well, Squire, I'll go along and see what can be done. If I was you meantime, I'd not say much to no one. There's Judge Harrison, you know, we can't act without him. Good night, you. Squire, I guess he ain't two. Anyhow, I wouldn't let fly no warrants till I saw my bird sitting somewhere. It's bad to have him hitting the wrong place. When it was well it was darkish and nobody to look at him. For Mr. Simlins went grinning pretty much all the way between Squire Deacon's house and the house of Mrs. Derrick, where Mr. Linden was entertaining his shadow in the moonlit porch. Even to you, growled Mr. Simlins as he came up. The grin was gone, and the farmer stood with his wanted solemnity of face and manner. Where's the rest of your folks? The rest of my folks are a good way off, Mr. Simlins, said the person addressed, giving the questioner his hand while his shadow exchanged civilities with the shadow of Mr. Simlins. When did you come back? I am glad to see you. I'm glad to see myself, said Mr. Simlins. There's no state like Connecticut, sir. What's your bringing up place? No one place has had that honor, Mr. Simlins. I have been brought up from one to another. Not Connecticut, eh? Not altogether. I am here just now, as you see, getting a part of my education. I am one of the Sey and Seal people in a way. Won't you come in, Mr. Simlins? Well, I'd as leaf see faith, and Mrs. Derrick is almost any other two folks in Patecquasset. But there are long ways off, you say? No further than the parlor, I believe. Mr. Simlins was willing to go as far as the parlor, and so the party on the porch adjourned thither. A bright lamp lit the room, by which faith was mending stockings, while Mrs. Derrick sat in an easy chair a little further off, rocking and knitting. Well, said Mr. Simlins, when the sun goes down I think it is time to knock off work, but women kind don't seem to think so. I guess when the sun goes down your work's knocked off, Mr. Simlins, said Mrs. Derrick. I'd act, Mrs. Derrick, when I'm to home, but when a man's visiting he has to work night and day. Moonlight's moonlight now. I declare in Jersey I thought it was broad sunshine. You haven't been down to my place yet, Mr. Linden? No, sir, not within the gate. Simlins has held that place, sir, off and on for nine three hundred years. We're a good many, Simlins, and we're a good set, I'll say it. Pretty good set. Not thin skinned, you know. We can take a scratch without being killed, but we never would stay and be in trampoline. We're soft-hearted too, plenty of what I may call tendrils, ready to take hold of anything. And when we take hold, we do take hold. We cover a good deal of ground in the country, here and elsewhere, in the various branches. My mother was a mush, and my grandmother was a citron. A good family's those, sir. You can't do better than to take a wife from one of them, Mr. Linden, if you are so disposed. You haven't got one already, have you? What, sir? said Mr. Linden, with more sharpness than he often showed, and which made Mrs. Derrick drop her knitting and look up. I thought you wasn't a married man, are you? said Mr. Simlins, the grin just showing itself again on his face. Is that one of the charges brought against me? said Mr. Linden. A little too roused himself to pay much heed to Mr. Simlins's question. Well, I didn't know as you think it a charge, said Mr. Simlins, with an unchanged tone. I guess you mean to make it true some day, don't you? The question fell unheeded. The charge did not. It touched him deeply. Touched the proud sense of character, though no words gave evidence of the fact. Faith, child! said Mrs. Derrick in that moment of silence. Her whisper as low as she thought would reach across the table, ought we to be here? But a very emphatic, yes, from the window, prevented the need of faith's answer. I was only recommended, said Mr. Simlins, in case you wanted help to make up your mind. The Citrines are all gone to New Jersey. There's a few of the mushes rambling round Connecticut yet. Well, Mr. Linden, I hope you and your boys get on comodously together. Just look into that basket on the table and see what one of them brought him to-night, said Mrs. Derrick. Those are Stoutenberg's sweetings, Mr. Simlins. Mr. Simlins looked at the sweetings and then looked towards the window. I'd like to hear you speak a little on that point, he said. Fact is, there's been some winds blowing about Patequasset that ain't come off beds or roses, and I'd like to find where the pison is and clap a stopper on it for the future. It's easy done. Mr. Linden looked up with his usual expression. Only the smile was grave and a little moved, and answered, I could say a good deal on that point, Mr. Simlins. Yet I had rather you should ask the boys than me. Don't want to ask the boys nothing, bless you, said Mr. Simlins. What I want to say is this. I've been asking him, and he says you learned the boys to make a V wrong side upward. I can't make nothing of that, said Mr. Simlins, with again the approach to a grin, tamed over easy to tell whether his Vs are on one side up or another. Now I'd like to know from you where the hitch is. The squire ain't likely to set the mong in a configuration just yet, but if he's swinging a torch round I'd just sleeve put it out for the spark's-fly. But Mr. Simlins, don't you think it is rather hard measure to ask me why people dislike me? Well, I don't see as I do, said Mr. Simlins, plastically, because I know pretty well it's some chemistry idea of his own, and if I could get hold of it, you see, I should have a better handle. I guess the school never went on better than it's going. He don't know beans. How do you know that I do, said Mr. Lyndon Smiley. Why don't you ask him? I think at least half his ill will arises from a mistake. Have asked him, said Mr. Simlins, just come from there, but he's pretty much like them Vs we were speaking about. Don't spell nothing. What's his mistake about then? If I know that, I could bring things to a concert. Why, said Mr. Lyndon with grave deliberation, suppose he wants to buy your house, and takes a walk up that way to set forth his terms. Well, suppose he does, said Mr. Simlins, attentively. He finds you and Judge Harrison in the porch. You talk about the crops and the weather, and he tells you he wants your house. What do you say to him? I tell him I don't sell it to no one but a Simlins, nor that neither, till I can't live in it no longer myself. Is that your fault? Or Judge Harrison's, said Mr. Lyndon, setting the basket of Stoutenburg sweetings on the table in the full light of the lamp. Miss Faith, if these are sweetenings, they may as well do their office. The farmer sat with his elbows on his knees, touching the tips of his fingers together in thoughtful fashion, and softly blowing the breath through his lips in a way that might have reached the dignity of a whistle if it had had a trifle more of musicalness. Them the sort of lessons you give in school, he said at length, without stirring. Why, said Mr. Lyndon with a little bit of a smile. Ingenuous, said Mr. Simlins, it's as good as a book. Mrs. Derek, added he, glancing up at the rocking chair. Is Squire Deacon wanting to buy your house? My, said Mrs. Derek, again laying down her knitting. Can't you be content with the zone? I hope we don't want ours. She added, some fear mingling with her surprise. Miss Faith, said Mr. Lyndon, do you think if I gave you an apple you would give me a knife? I hope we don't, growled Mr. Simlins as he rose up. I never heard that he did. Miss Faith, them Stoutenberg sweetings is good eating. Faith, after setting a pile of plates and knives on the table, had taken up her stocking again. Yes, Mr. Simlins, I know they are. Then why don't you eat one? I don't want it just now, Mr. Simlins, I'd rather finish my work. Work, said the farmer taking an apple. Well, good evening. I'll go and look after my work. I guess we'll fix it. There's a side of work in the world. With which moral reflection, Mr. Simlins departed. There'll be more work than sight at this rate, said Mr. Lyndon when he came back from the front door. Mrs. Derrick, how many stockings does Miss Faith absolutely require for one day? Why, I don't know, sir, and I don't believe I ever did know since she was big enough to run about, said Mrs. Derrick, her mind still dwelling upon the house. Miss Faith, my question stands transferred to you. Why, you know, said Faith, intent upon the motions of her needle, I might require to mend in one day what would last me to wear a good many, and I do. But the day is done and the darkness falls from the wings of night. I never meant stockings till then, said Faith, smiling over her work. Are Sam's apples good? By reputation. I thought you were trying them. Why, you asked me for a knife, Mr. Lyndon, and I brought it. I'm sure I gave you an apple. Perhaps you thought it was a ball of darning-gotten. No, I didn't, said Faith, laughing. But what is my apple to your knife, Mr. Lyndon? Not much. It has served the purposes of trade. But what is the purpose of trade, Mr. Lyndon, if the articles aren't wanted? I see you are dissatisfied with your bargain, he said. Well, I will be generous. You shall have the knife, too. And Mr. Lyndon walked away from the table and went upstairs. The parlor was very still after that. Faith's needle, indeed, worked with more zeal than ever. But Mrs. Derek rolled up her knitting and put it in her basket, sighing a little as she did so, then sat and thought. Faith, child, she said after a long pause. Do you think the squire would ever take our house? Faith hesitated, and the answer, when it came, was not satisfactory. I don't know, mother. Mrs. Derek sighed again and leaned back in her chair and rocked, the rockers creaking in rather doleful sympathy with her thoughts. Then an owl on a tree before the door hooded at the world generally, though Mrs. Derek evidently thought his remarks personal. I can't think why he should do that tonight of all nights in the year, she said, sitting straight up in her chair. It never did mean good. Faith, what should we do if he did? This time she meant the squire, not the owl. Mother, said Faith, and then she spoke in her usual tone. We'd find a way. Well, said Mrs. Derek, rocking back and forth. Then she started up. We've got to have biscuits for breakfast, whether or no. It's good I remembered him. And she hurried out of the room, coming back to kiss Faith and say, Don't fret, pretty child, whatever happens. Go to bed and sleep. I'll make the biscuit. An alert and busy, she left the parlor. Faith's sleep was quiet, but not unbroken. For at that time when all well-disposed people, young or old, are generally asleep, in such a well-ordered community as Patec Quasset, it pleased the younger portion of said community to be awake. Yet they were well-disposed, and also ill. For repairing in a body to Mrs. Derek's house they gave her nine cheers for her lodger, thence departing to Squire Deacons they gave him as many groans as he could reasonably want for himself, after which the younger part of the community retired in triumph. It was said by one adventurous boy that falling in with Mr. Simlins they impressed him, that his voice helped on the cheers but not the groans, and indeed the whole story needs confirmation. Faith heard the groans but faintly, owing to the distance, but the cheers were tremendous. It is painful to add that Joe Deacon was vociferous in both parties. CHAPTER 7 I hope your rest was to start last night, said Faith rather gaily as she came into the breakfast table with a plate of biscuits and set them down before Mr. Linden. Thank you, you have reason to be quite satisfied in that respect. But did you hear them after they left our house? I heard them, really, or in imagination, all night. Thank you again, Miss Faith, and am as sleepy this morning as you can desire. It was an eye, said Faith. Now what notice, Mr. Linden, will you think it proper to take of such a proceeding? That was one thing which kept me awake. But as you are sleepy now, I suppose the point is decided? You are as quick at conclusions as Johnny Fax, said Mr. Linden's filing, who always supposes that when I am not using my pen myself I am quite ready to let him have it. Does he get it? What should you advise? Oh, Mr. Linden, said Faith, I should advise you to do—just what you do. Unsound, said he, I thought you were a better advisor. But about this matter of the boys, I shall probably read them a lecture wherein I shall set forth the risk they run of getting sick by such exposure to the night air. Also the danger I am in of being sent away from my present quarters because ladies prefer sleep to disturbance, having thus wrought up their feelings to the highest pitch I shall give them a holiday and come home to dinner. She laughed her little low laugh of pleasure. At least it always sounded so. It might be pleasure at one thing or at another, but it was as round and sweet a tone of merry or happy acknowledgement as has ever heard in this world of discordances. But are you really sleepy, sir? said Mrs. Derrick. I am so sorry. I thought they were doing nothing but good. I never once thought of their waking you up. Mr. Linden laughed, too, a little. I shall get waked up, he said, in the course of the day, unless somebody has drugged my coffee. Judge Harrison was here this morning, Mr. Linden, with a message for you, said Faith. Mother, will you tell Mr. Linden what Judge Harrison said? I'd rather hear you, child, by half, said her mother, with a smile whereon the house cast a little shadow. Tell him yourself, Faith. And Mrs. Derrick sighed and took her napkin and rubbed off a spot on the coffee-pot. Judge Harrison came, said Faith, and paused. And went away, said Mr. Linden. Yes, said Faith. He stopped on his way somewhere and came into the kitchen to talk to us. He said he would like, if you would like it, he would like to have a great exhibition of the boys. He knows about the school, he says, and there hasn't been such a school in Patequasset since he has been here himself, and he would like to show it up to the whole town. So if Mr. Linden approved of it, Judge Harrison said, he would have a gathering of all the countryside in some nice place. The judge has plenty of ground and can get anybody else's besides, and the boys should have a great examination, and after that there should be an entertainment under the trees, for boys and all. He had mother to speak to Mr. Linden and see whether he would like it, and mother wouldn't, said Faith, as she finished. Mr. Linden raised his eyebrows slightly, then let them fall, and likewise his eyes. Then sent his cup to be replenished, gravely remarking to Faith that if she had any drugs she might put them in now. What kind of drugs would you like, Mr. Linden, said Faith? Any that are deeply sedative. Sedative? said Faith, with that look which he often drew from her. Very earnest, half-wistful, half-sorrowful. I don't know what it means, Mr. Linden. It means, said he, his face relaxing a little, such as diminish the physical energy without destroying life, such, in short, as might qualify a man for the situation of a tame monkey on a pole. Faith's look changed to a sort of indignant little glance, her lips parted, but they closed again, and her eyes went down to her plate. What were you going to remark, Miss Faith? Faith blushed a good deal, however the answer came steadily. I don't think any drugs would do that for you. I am in a bad way, then, said Mr. Linden, with unmoved gravity. Because if I survive this trial of what I can bear, I intend to advertise for the aforenamed situation. Have you heard of any vacant pole, Miss Faith? Faith looked at him with a grave considering wonder, which gradually broke into a sense of fun, and then she laughed as she did not often laugh. Apparently Mr. Linden was well enough pleased with such answer to his words, for he not only made no attempt to stop her, but even remarked that it was good to be of a sympathizing disposition. The day passed as usual. Only of late it had got to be Faith's habit to spend a good deal of time shut up in her room. It had never been her habit before. But now, after going through her early household duties, of which Faith had plenty, she used to be out of sight often for an hour before dinner, unless when the dinner required just that hour of her attention, nothing was left behind her to call her down. Her dairy, her bread and cake, her pies and cream cheeses, her dinner preparations, whatever the things might be, were all ready for the day's wants. And then Faith was gone. After dinner it was still more surely the same. Yet though all this was true, it was so quietly and unobtrusively true that Mrs. Derrick had hardly observed it. It happened this afternoon that Faith lingered upstairs not until tea time, but until she heard her mother call. Ruben Taylor wanted to see her. He was at the gate. I didn't want to disturb you, Miss Faith. I told Mrs. Derrick so. It's only some clams, which I thought maybe you'd like, said Ruben modestly. I left him in the kitchen. Thank you, Ruben. I like them very much. Do you feel better than you did yesterday? Yes, ma'am, said Ruben rather slowly. I felt a great deal better last night. And today, don't you? Yes, ma'am, Ruben answered as before. But not so well as last night. What's the matter, Ruben? Didn't you hear what they did last night, ma'am? To be sure I did. But what has made you feel worse today? Why, you know, ma'am, said Ruben. Last night I forgot all about everybody but Mr. Linden. But, oh, Miss Faith, I just wish you could have been in school today for one minute when Mr. Linden came in. You see, said Ruben, excitement conquering reserve. The boys were all there. There wasn't one of them late, and everyone had a sprig of basswood in his hat and in his buttonhole. And we all kept our hats on till he got in, and stood up to meet him, though that we do always. And then we took off our hats together and gave him such a shout. You know, Miss Faith, added Ruben with a smile both expressive and sweet. Basswood's a kind of Linden. And what did Mr. Linden do, said Faith, with a smile of her own that very well reflected Ruben's? He didn't say much, said Ruben. He looked a good deal. Well, you foolish boys, said Faith gently. Don't you feel well now after all that? What's the matter? A heavy shoe-leathery step came down the street. It was Squire Deacon. Ruben knew who it was before the Squire came near, for he flushed up, and for a moment stood with his back resolutely turned towards the gate. Then with an air as resolute but different, he turned round and bowed as courteously as he knew how. Far more so than the Squire did to him, for the combination of Faith and Ruben did not seem to fall pleasantly upon Squire Deacon's organs of vision, nor indeed could he have quite forgotten last night. Ruben, come in, said Faith, touching his shoulder and smiling. I want to speak to you, but first answer my question. Why don't you feel quite well now? You ought, Ruben. Yes, Miss Faith, I know I ought. At least I oughtn't to feel just as I do, Ruben answered. Mr. Linden told me so to-day. Then why do you feel so, Faith asked, with increased earnestness? Ruben collared and hesitated. Folks vexed me, he said in a low voice, and—and Mr. Linden says I love him too well if I'm not willing to let him go when God pleases. And I know it's true, but—and Ruben followed Faith into the house without another word. What do you mean about Mr. Linden's going? Just that, ma'am, said Ruben simply, because we can't make ourselves feel well by thinking things are going just as we want them to. He says that's not strong enough ground to rest on. But does he talk of going away, Ruben? Oh no, Miss Faith, I never heard him. He only talked so to me because of what other folks said. Well, said Faith with a change of tone, you're a foolish boy. You come and see me whenever you get feeling bad again. Folks can't hurt Mr. Linden. Now look here—wait a minute, will you? Faith ran upstairs, speedily came down again with a little blue-covered book in her hand. Is this the arithmetic you study? She said softly, coming close to him. Linden took the book with some surprise in his face. Yes, ma'am, this is the one. And he looked up at her as if to ask what next. How far have you gone? I am through this now, said Ruben, but some of the others are here, and here. Then you can tell me, said Faith. She turned over to a certain page, far on in the book, too, and putting it into Ruben's hand said quietly, I am studying it and I cannot make anything of this. Do you remember how it was explained? The book's wrong, said Ruben after a glance at it. I remember, Miss Faith, see it ought to be so and so. Ruben went on explaining. All the books we could get here were just like it, and Mr. Linden said if he found any more mistakes he would send to Quillpeak and get good ones. He showed us how this ought to be. That's it, said Faith. Thank you, Ruben, and you needn't tell anybody I asked you about it. Ruben looked a little surprised again, but he said, no, ma'am, and made his bow. It was Faith's turn to be surprised then, for stepping into the tea-room to look at the clock. She found not only the clock, but Mr. Linden, the former taking sundry minutes past tea-time, the latter enjoying the sunset clouds and his own reflections, and, possibly, his book. Mrs. Derrick, favoring the atmosphere of the little wood fire, which had burned itself out to coals and ashes, sat at one corner of the hearth, taking up the stitches round the hill of her stocking, which precarious operation engrossed her completely. Mr. Linden, however, looked up and took in the whole of the little picture before him. Apparently the picture was pleasant, for he smiled. This look was startled. I am late, she said, with a compunctious glance at the clock, and as soon as it could be made the tea came in smoking. As Faith took her seat at the table she put her question. When did you come in, Mr. Linden? About a quarter of an hour before you did. By which way? Why by the door? It is simpler than the window. The next few seconds seemed to be employed by Faith in buttering bread and eating it, but in reality they were used for carrying on a somewhat hurried calculation of minutes and distances, which brought the color in her cheeks to a hue of pretty richness. Did I run over anybody in my way? asked Mr. Linden. What gives the question its interest? I had thought you were out, said Faith quietly. I know a shorter way to the store than you do, said Mr. Linden, with equal quietness. To the store, said Faith, I am lit quite putting quietness out of the question. Yes, I found your footprints there the other day, and I have been wanting to tell you ever since that it is not anything like so far up to my room. Let me recommend that way to you for the future. Faith's color was no matter of degrees now, for it rushed over temples and cheeks in a flood, and seemed inclined to be a permanency. There you may take what you like, he went on, with a smile that was both amused and encouraging, and I shall be none the wiser unless you tell me yourself. If you do tell me I shall be very glad. Now Miss Faith, what shall we do about Judge Harrison? Faith hesitated, and struggled perhaps, for it did not seem very easy to speak with that deep flush on her brow, and then she said rather low, I am not ungrateful, Mr. Linden. Neither am I, but this proposal of his gives me some trouble. I think if he would have all the fun without any of the showing off it would answer every good purpose and avoid all the bad ones. And if you will intimate as much to your mother, Miss Faith, and persuade her to convey the information to Judge Harrison, it will perhaps be the best way of reply. Of course, as trustee he still has the right of doing as he likes. Do you hear, said Faith, or do you want me to repeat it? No, child, said her mother abstractedly. I didn't hear to be sure. How should I? Faith, what do you suppose makes Cindy break the noses off all our milk-pitchers? This was an irresistible question. Faith's own face came back, and during the rest of supper time she was like herself, only with a shade more than was usual upon her brow and manner. The short September day had little twilight to lengthen it out. The cool western horizon still outshone the setting stars with its clear light, but in the east and overhead others came out, silently one by one. Mr. London went to take his evening walk, Faith to light the lamp in the parlor, watched and gazed at by her mother the while. Child, said Mrs. Derrick, what makes you stay upstairs so? I never thought of it till I went to call you to see Ruben, but seems to me you are up there a great deal. Faith smiled a little, and also looked grave as she was putting on the shade of the lamp. Yes, mother, she said, I am. What for, pretty child? said her mother fondly. Faith was pretty in the look with which she answered this appeal. Her smile dropped its gravity, and only love came in to make the confession. Mother, I am trying to learn. I want to be wiser. Learn! said Mrs. Derrick, in utter astonishment and rousing out of her resting position, trying to learn, child. Yes, mother, what about it? I don't know anything, and I want to know. A great deal. Why, you know everything now, said Mrs. Derrick. What don't you know, Faith? I should like to. Faith smiled. Mother, I don't know anything. And then she added more brightly. I've begun with arithmetic for one thing. arithmetic, said Mrs. Derrick, and she paused, and leaned back in her chair, rocking gently to and fro with a shade of soberness stealing over her face. You never did have much chance, she said at length, because I couldn't give it to you then. My heart was broke, Faith, and I couldn't bear to have you out of my sight for a minute. But somehow I thought you knew everything. And she sat still once more, looking at Faith as if trying to reinstate herself in her old opinion, nor altogether without success, or with a little smile coming over her face, Mrs. Derrick added. You won't be any sweeter, learn as much as you will, child, you needn't think it. And the Rockers would have certainly come into play again if Cindy had not opened the door and claimed attention. I suppose likely you don't want to go down to wit her stamps, she said, because she wants you to come. I'm free to confess she's got the highest drags wonderful. Mother, said Faith, giving her one or two kisses as Mrs. Derrick rose to prove the contrary of Cindy's supposition. I shall be a great deal happier, and I am getting along nicely. Which sent Mrs. Derrick off in triumph. But when she was gone Faith did not take her basket of stockings, nor yet her arithmetic, but sat down by the table with her head in her hands, and sat very still. Still, until Mr. Linden came in, laid one paper on the table at her side and sat down to read another. The day-starting needle came into play then, and worked quick and silently. Mr. Linden glanced toward it as he laid down his paper. I see you evaded my question last night, he said. There could not be such a constant supply if there were not also a constant demand. Mr. Linden, said Faith, her color a little raised and her voice changing somewhat. I want to ask you something, if you are not busy about anything. I am not, but you might ask just as freely if I were. I couldn't, said Faith. She drew her hand out of her stocking and put her thimble on the table. Mr. Linden, she said without looking at him. A while ago, when you were speaking of Faith in a cloudy day, and I told you I wasn't like that, you said I must read the Bible then, and do what that said. I have been trying to do it. Shading his eyes with his hand he looked at her, as if waiting to hear more. And I don't understand it, she said. I don't know how to get on. What do you mean with the Bible? Is it that you do not understand? I don't understand some things. I don't know exactly what I ought to do. In what respect? Where is the difficulty? Some things in the Bible you never will understand perhaps in this world, and others you must learn by degrees. I don't understand exactly what makes a Christian, and I want to be one. It was spoken low and timidly, but Faith was an earnest. She landed and sat silent a minute, without changing his position. A Christian is one who, trusting in Christ as his only saviour, thenceforth obeys him as his only King. Faith hesitated and thought. I don't understand, she said, folding her hands. About the trusting. Suppose there was something you wanted done too hard for your strength, but not for mine. Would you know how to trust it in my hands? She bowed her head and said, Yes. Suppose I consented to do it, only upon condition that for the rest of your life my will and pleasure should be your only rule of action. Would the great work still be yours or mine? Why yours, she said, still looking at him. Cannot you see Christ, standing between God and man, offering his own blood where justice demands ours, and with his perfect righteousness covering our imperfect obedience, so that God may be just, and yet the justifier of him that believeth in Jesus? Can you apply any words? Can you see that Christ only is mighty to save? Are you willing to trust yourself in his hands? Faith dropped her eyes for a minute or two, but the lines of her face were changing. I know what you mean now, she said slowly. I couldn't see it before. Then with a little smile she went on. Yes, Mr. Linden, I am willing, but what must I do? Only believe, he answered. Do what you say you are willing to do. But, said Faith, looking at him with a face which certainly spoke her near the little child character which Christians do bear, there must be something else. I must not be like what I have been. I want to know what I ought to do. Christ's own words tell you better than I can. My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. That is the description of a Christian on earth. And then it follows. I give unto them eternal life, and they shall never perish. Neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand. There was silence, and then Faith said, But how am I to follow him? How did the people do to whom he said those words when he was on earth? I don't know. They arose and left all, and followed him. Well, Mr. Linden, it is just such a following that we are called to now, only that it must be in hard and life instead of actual footsteps. Just so must we rise up from doing our own will and pleasure, fix our eyes upon Christ, and follow him. But how are we to know? How am I to know, said Faith, what I ought to do? Study Christ's summing up of the Ten Commandments. Does that not cover the whole ground? And then do every little duty as it comes to hand. If we are truly ready to do God's will, he will send us work. Or if not, they also serve who only stand and wait. Faith looked an earnest, wistful, sorrowful look at him. But then she said, I don't do anything well. How can I know that I am right? You know what you said. Of the two roads only one led to the shore. I keep thinking of that, ever since. A traveller in the right road, said Mr. Linden, may walk with very weak and unsteady pace, yet he knows which way his face is set. Which way is yours? Faith's face was in her hands. But Mrs. Derrick stepped just then, sounding at the front door, she sprang away, before it could reach the parlor. Chapter 7.