 CHAPTER XII It occurs to me, Parsons-Somers, said that gentleman's lady-wife, as she salted and sugared his morning bowl of porridge. It occurs to me that Patakasit is getting stirred up with a long pole. Ah, my dear, said Mr. Somers. Stir it up. Well, what makes you think so? Why? Said Mrs. Somers, tasting the porridge. Jenny, fetch some milk. How do you suppose Mr. Somers is going to eat such thick stuff as that? And when do you suppose he is going to get his breakfast at this rate? If you let your head run upon gemwaters in this style, Jenny, I shall forbid him in the house. I always notice that the day after he's been in here, Mr. Somers' porridge is too thick. Well, my dear, said the person. Ha! The porridge will do very well. I thought you were speaking of Patakasit when you spoke of something being stirred up. So I was, said the lady, while Jenny, blushing beyond her ordinary PNQ, ran about in the greatest confusion, catching up first the water pitcher, and then the molasses cup. Do very well. No, indeed it won't, but men never know anything about housekeeping. Well, my dear, but what about Patakasit? I know something about Patakasit. Is there any trouble in the village? It's a very peaceable place. Continued Mr. Somers, looking at his distant breakfast dish. Always was. Ha! I wish you'd let me have my porridge. Is there any trouble, my dear? I can't tell, said Mrs. Somers, adding a critical drop of milk. See for yourself, Mr. Somers, if there isn't, there may be. One set of things is at sixes, and another at sevens. There, that's better, though it's about as far from perfection as I am. Were none of us perfect? And so, ha! my dear, we can't blame the porridge. Said Mr. Somers, with slight jocularity, which pleased at least himself. But Patakasit is about as near the impossible state as most places, that I know. What have you heard of Mrs. Somers? A deal and rather, an enigmatic construction this morning. Who said I heard anything? Said the lady. I only said, use your eyes, Mr. Somers. Open your study window and let the light in. Just see what a rumpus we've had about the school to begin. Ha! my dear, said Mr. Somers, if opening the window of my study is going to let trouble it come in, I'd rather, ha! Keep it shut! The judge Harrison thinks the teacher is a very fine man, and I have no doubt he is. And the judge is going to give him a great celebration. I have no doubt we shall all enjoy it. I think the disturbance that has been made will not give Mr. Linden any more trouble. Why, who cares about his trouble? Said Mrs. Somers, rather briskly. I daresay he's very good, Mr. Somers, but I shan't fret over him. I'm not sure, but he's a little too good for my liking. I'm not sure that it's quite natural. Jenny. Fetch some more biscuit. How long do you suppose Mr. Somers and I can live upon one? Parsons Somers ate porridge and studied the philosophy of Mr. Somers' statements. My dear, he said at length, I'm not sure that you are correcting your view. It seems to me to be a rather contradictory—I don't know what this does about—and I don't think there is any occasion, my dear, for you to fret about anything. Not about Mr. Linden, certainly. The disaffection to the new school was a confined to a very few. I don't think it has taken root in the public mind, generally. You will be better to form a judgment on Thursday. Bless your heart, Mr. Somers, said his wife, what's Thursday to do? If you think I've said all I could say, why, there's no help for it. Now there's Sam Deacon, don't come to meeting half the time lately, and to match that, Faith Derrick walks to Sunday school with one of those sea-combed children tagging after her. Well, said Mr. Somers, looking exceedingly mystified, what's the harm in that? If Miss Faith chooses to do it, it shows, I'm sure, a charitable disposition, praiseworthy. Mr. Somers, said the lady, is it possible you can think for one moment that I mean what I mean? If she came to society, too, I should know what to make of it. But when people work alongside some folks and not alongside of others, why, it's as long as it is broad. Then Maria David says she drove those boys over to Nianticate the other day, or helped to dry them. What do you think of that, Mr. Somers? Mr. Somers looked as if his wife was too fast for him. My dear, said he, however, plucking up, I think I would trust Faith Derrick as soon as Maria David, or any other young lady in Patekoset. If she did go to Nianticate, I presume it was all as it should be. Squiredeacon never was very remarkable for being a religious man or anything like that, and you can't help folks working alongside of each other. They will do it, said Mr. Somers, relapsing into his jocular mood. I'm a man of peace, my dear, and you should be a woman of peace. Why don't you suppose that I believed what Maria David said? Why, Mrs. Somers? Her words are not worth their weight in gold, and she isn't a bit too good to be jealous, but the thing is, if Faith didn't do that, what did she do? Jenny, fetch in the tub of hot water and be spry. With Jenny in the hot water walked in a somewhat rough-looking boy who declared without much ceremony beyond doffing his cap that Ma sent him to find out what sewing-meating was to be this week. Who are you, said Mrs. Somers, dipping a cup in the hot water and wiping it with spryness that was quite imposing? Is your name Bill Wright? No, Taint, said the boy. Guess again. You'll never pay anybody for much trouble that way, said Mrs. Somers, dipping in the corresponding saucer. Jenny, did you ever hear of anybody's getting along in a dish-tub without a mop? Who wants to know, sir, said Mr. Somers politely? Who is your father? He's Farmer David's. Oh, and are you Phil? Yes. Would I be going to tell her this interrogatory being sent in the direction of the dish-tub? Why, you can tell her two things, said Mrs. Somers, eyeing Phil from head to foot. In the first place, the society will meet down at Ms. B. Zacks, and in the second, as soon as your mother will teach your children how to behave themselves, I shall be very glad to see them. The society will meet down to Mrs. Purcells. Ms. B. Zacks, said Mrs. Somers, preserving a cheerful and brisk equanimity in the midst of her sharp words that was quite delightful. Pay more attention to your lessons, Phil David's, and you'll be a better boy if you look sharp. What lessons, said the boy, blackly? All you get, at home and abroad, you go to school, I fancy, replied Mrs. Somers. The boy glanced towards the clock and began to move off, answering by actions rather than words. You were over at Nianticate, I suppose, Saturday, said Mr. Somers affably, to which the answer was a choked and unwilling yes. Well, who drove you? He drove, said Phil, I'm going. And the ladies. Weren't there ladies along? Yes, they drove too. Did you have a fine time, said Mrs. Somers? Yes, I did, said Phil, very loomily. Why, what did you do more than the rest? I didn't do nothing, said Phil, blurting out, and he went and took all my nuts away. He's the devil. The boy looked at the minute, as if he was a young one. Hush, hush, said Mr. Somers, you, you oughtn't speak that way, don't you know? It's not proper. I hope he boxed your ears first, said Mrs. Somers, I'm certain you deserved it. What made him take your nuts away? He wanted to, um, to make a present to you, said the boy, and with another glance, at the hands of the clock, he darted out of the house and down the road towards the schoolhouse, as if truly he had expected to meet there the character he had mentioned. My dear, said Mr. Somers, do you think it's quite a politic to tell Mrs. David that she don't bring up her children, right? Mrs. David's is a very respectable woman, and so is Farmer David's, none more so. I don't know what you call respectable women, said Mrs. Somers, and I should be sorry to think he was, but I wish, Mr. Somers, that she would preach a sermon to the people about cutting off their children's tongues if they can't keep them in order. I declare, I could hardly keep hands off that boy. And with this suggested and suggested text, Mr. Somers retired to his study. It had been a busy day with more than Mrs. Somers. When towards the close of the afternoon, faith came out upon the porch of her mother's house. She had not read more than one delicious bit of her letter on the ride home from the etiquette. The light failed too soon. After getting home, there was no more chance. Saturday night, that Saturday, had a crowd of affairs, and Monday had been a day full of business. Faith had got through it all, at last, and now, as fresh as if the kitchen had been a bygone institution, though that was as true of faith in the kitchen as out of it. She sat down in the afternoon glow to read the letter. The porch was nice to match. She took a low seat on the step, and laying the letter in her lap, rested her elbow on the yellow floor of the porch to take it at full ease. It was not just such a letter, as is most often found in biographies. Yet such may be found, out of print. A bright medley of description and fancy, mountains and legends and scraps of song, forming a mosaic of no set pattern, and well read as the writer it was, in other respects. It was plain that she was also learned in both the book's faith that had at Nantiket. The quick flow of the letter was only checked now and then by a little word gesture of affection. If that could be called a check, which gave to the written pictures a better glow than lit up the originals. It was something to see Faith read that letter, or would have been if anybody had been there to look. She lain over it in a sort of breathless abstraction, catching her breath a little sometimes, in a way that told the interest it worked. The interest was not merely that would have belonged to the letter for any reader. It was not merely the interest that attached to the writer of it, nor to the persons for whom it was written. It was not only the interest deep in great, which Faith felt, in the subjects and objects spoken of the letter. All these wrought with their full power, but all these were not enough to account for the intent and intense feeling with which Faith bent over that letter, with eyes that never wavered, and a cheek in which the blood mounted to a bright flush. And when it was done, even then she sat still leaning over the paper, looking not at it, but through it. A little shower of fringed gentian and white lady's tresses came patting down upon the letter, hiding its delicate black marks with their own dainty faces. These are your means of transport back to Patec Crossett, said Mr. Linden. Faith looked up and rose up. I had come back, she said, drawing one of those half-long breaths as she folded up and gave in the letter. I can't thank you, Mr. Linden. I thought you were not reading, or I should not have ventured at such an interruption. But I am in no hurry for the letter, Miss Faith. How do you like Italy? I like it, said Faith doubtfully. I don't know it, Mr. Linden. She went on with some difficulty in flushing yet more. Sometime will you tell me in which books I can find out about those things, those things the letters speak of? Those things concern Italy, do you mean? I can arrange an Italy shelf for you upstairs, but I'm afraid I have not very much here to put on it. No, indeed, said Faith, looking half-startled, I didn't mean to give you trouble, only sometime, if you would tell me what books, perhaps. Perhaps what, he said, smiling. Perhaps I wouldn't. No, she said, I mean perhaps you would, and perhaps I could get them and read them. I feel I don't know anything. That Faith felt it was very plain. She had that rare beauty, a soft eye. I do not mean the grace of insipidity, nor the quality of mere form and color, but the full lustrous softness that speaks the character strong in the foundation of peace and sweetness. Only an eye can be soft by turns and upon occasion. It is rarely that you see one where sweetness and strength have met together to make that the abiding characteristic. The gentleness of such an eye has always strength to back it. Weakness could never be so steadfast, poverty could not be so rich, and Faith's eye showed both its qualities now. Mr. Linden merely repeated, I will arrange it for you, and you can take the books in what order you like. First I can send you another journey when they are exhausted. He's added, turning the letter softly about, as if the touch were pleasant to him. She stood looking at it. I don't know how to thank you for letting me read that, she said. It would be foolish in me to tell you how beautiful I thought it. She is, her brother said, with a tender, half-smiling, half-grave expression. And for a minute or two he was silent, then spoke abruptly. Miss Faith, what have you done with your philosophy? You know, though the rooms in the Great Temple of Knowledge be so many that one cannot possibly explore them all, yet the more keys we have in hand the better. For some locks yield best to an English key, some to a French, and it is often pleasant to take a look where one cannot go in and well. She flushed a good deal with eyes downcast as she stood before him, then answered with that odd little change in her voice which told of some mental check. I haven't done anything with it, Mr. Linden. That requires explanation. It isn't so hard as one of your puzzles, she said, smiling. I mean to do something with it, Mr. Linden, if I can, and I thought I would try the other day, but I found I didn't know enough to begin to learn that yet. What other key are you forging? What other key? said Faith. I mean, he answered with a tone that showed a little fear of going too far. Do you want to learn before that? I don't know, said Faith humbly. I suppose English. It was a grammar of yours, Mr. Linden, a French grammar that I was looking at, and I found I couldn't understand what it was about, anywhere, so I thought I must learn something else first. Never a philosopher would so put in a corner, said Mr. Linden. Suppose you take up him in the dictionary and let me be the grammar. Do you think you can understand what I was about? The blood leapt to her cheek. Part of her answer Faith had no need to put into words, even if he had not seen her eyes, which he did. The words were not in any hurry to come. When you have been teaching all day already, she said in a tone between regretful and self-approving. It wouldn't be right. May I occasionally do wrong, just for variety's sake? You may, and I don't doubt you would. I was just thinking of my own part. I'm glad you don't say you have no doubt I do, said Mr. Linden. I suppose you mean I would if sufficient temptation came up, which of course it never has. Faith looked an instant, then her gravity broke up. Ah, but you know what I mean, she said. You will have to furnish me with a dictionary next, he said, smiling. Look at my watch, Miss Faith. How can you have tea so late when I have been teaching all day? It isn't right, and cuts off one time for philosophizing besides. Faith ran into the house, to tell the truth, with a very pleased face, and tea was on the table in less time than Cindy could ever understand. But during tea time, Faith looked furtively, to see if any signs were to be found that little Johnny Fax had been made to yield up his testimony. Whether he had or no, she could see none, which however, as she justly conscluded with herself, proved nothing. The new grammar was far easier understood than the old, although Mr. Linden unfolded his newspaper, and informed Faith that he intended to read uninterruptedly, so that she need feel no scruple about interrupting him. Yet he probably had the power of reading two things at once, for his assistance was generally given before it was asked. His explanations, too, whether Faith knew it or not, covered more ground than the French exigency, absolutely required. He was not picking this lock for her, but giving her the grammar key. But Faith knew it and felt it, and tasted the help thus given, with an appreciation which only it needed to do all his work. The keen delight of one seeking knowledge, who has never been helped and who has, for the first time, the right kind of help. Indeed, with the selfishness incident to human nature, she forgot all about Mr. Linden's intention to read uninterruptedly, and took without scruple or question all the time he bestowed upon her. It was not till some minutes after she had closed her books that her low, grateful, you are very good, Mr. Linden, reached his ear. Thou the fact was, that Faith had been much observed that afternoon. Her reading dream on the steps had been so pretty a thing to see, that when Squire Deacon had seen it once he came back to see it again, and what number of views he would have taken cannot be told, had he not been surprised by Mr. Linden. Naturally the Squire withdrew, naturally his enlarged mind became contracted as he thought of the cause thereof, and not unnaturally he walked down that way after tea, still further to use his eyes. The house was in a tantalizing state. For though the light curtain was down, it revealed not only the bright glow of the lamp, but one or two shadowy heads, and the window being open for the evening was warm, low voices that he loved and that he did not love came to his ear. Once a puff of wind floated the curtain in, more tantalizing than ever. Squire Deacon could see Mr. Linden bending aside to look at something, but of what the Squire could not see, for there came the edge of the curtain. In a warm state of mind he turned his face homewards, proclaiming to himself that he didn't care what they did, the result of which was that in ten minutes more he was knocking at Mrs. Derrick's door, and being promptly admitted by Cindy. Entered the parlor, just as Faith had shut up her book and uttered her soft word of thanks. It was something of a transition, but after a moment's shadow of surprise on her face, Faith came forward and gave the Squire her hand. She would have let him explain then on his own errand, but as he did not seem very ready to do that, or to say anything, Faith stepped into the breach. How is Cecilia, Mr. Deacon? I have not seen her in a long time. She's first rate, said the Squire, colouring up for Mr. Linden's How Do You Do Again, Squire Deacon. Not only implied that they had lately met, but that the occasion was not forgotten. It's a sort of suffocating evening, out at the Squire webbing his forehead. I don't recollect so warm in October for a year or two. Cilly's been out of town this Faith, and since she come back she's been complaining of you. Faith was near saying that she hoped the warm weather would last till Thursday, but she remembered that that would not do, and changed her ground. I'm sorry anybody should complain of me. Is that because I didn't go to see her when she was away? I'm sure the rest of us could have stood it, if you had come when she was gone, Miss Faith, said the Squire gallantly. Seems to me we haven't seen you down to our house for an age and Sundays. I will try to come of a weekday, said Faith. I think you never saw me there, Sunday, Mr. Deacon. I suppose an age of Sundays must be seven times as long as any other age, said Mr. Linden. Is that the origin of the phrase, Squire Deacon? Very like, said the Squire, who didn't care to be interrupted. I don't know much about originals. When a man has a position to fill, he can't study knickknacks. What a handsome book, Miss Faith. Such a becoming-color. Don't you like the inside of books too, Mr. Deacon, said Faith? I dare say I should that one, said the Squire. The outside's like a picture, or a view, as some people call it, looks just like a grainfield in spring. What's the name of it, Miss Faith? Half prudently, half wickedly, Faith, without answering, took the book from the table and put it into Mr. Deacon's hand. The Squire's face looked like anything but a grainfield in spring then. It was more like a stubble in November. For opening the book midway and finding no help there, he turned to the title page and found the only English word in the book, in very legible black ink. So, he said, it's hisan, is it? Yes, it's mine, said Mr. Linden. Almost any man may have so much of a library as that. The Squire glanced suspiciously at Faith, as if he still believed that she had something to do with it, but he did not dare press the matter. Miss Faith, he said, calling up a smile that was meant to do retrospective work. Have you heard tell of the queer things they found down to Matavisit? What things, Mr. Deacon? Some sort of bird's been making tracks down there, said the Squire leaning back in his chair, with the look of one who has now got the game in his own hands. Making tracks crisscross round, and they do say the size on it might have come out of the Ark for wonder. How large are they, Mr. Deacon, and what sort of bird is it? Well, if I was a descendant of Noah, I suppose I could tell you, said the Squire with increased satisfaction. I'm sorry I can't as it is. But if you're curious, Miss Faith, and ladies always is in my experience, I'll drive you down there any day or any time of day. I want to see them myself, that's a fact. And so do silly. Now Miss Faith, name the day. The shortest possible smile on Mr. Linden's face at this sudden and earnest request did not help Faith into an answer. But the Squire was happily forgetful in that moment, that there was more than two people in the room, and leaning towards Faith you repeated. The sooner, the quicker always in such cases, because folks never can tell what may happen. No, said Faith, they cannot, especially about weather. And I have got some particular work to tend to at home, Mr. Deacon, before the weather changes. I wish you and Cecilia would go down and bring us a report. I should like that. Before the present, Mr. Skip and I have something to do. It's good you want Mr. Skip, for I don't, said the Squire, stiffening up a little. Is that one of the new fashion ways of saying you won't go, Miss Faith? What's your objection to Mr. Skip? said Faith pleasantly. I'm glad nobody else wants him, for we do. Well, I say I'm glad you've got him, said the Squire, relenting under the power of Faith's voice. But what else you, Miss Faith, to go tackling around like one of them schooners against the wind, ain't it a straight question as to whether you'll take an excursion to Mount Abysset? Very straight. I had Faith smiling and speaking gently, and I thought I gave a straight answer. Blessed if I can see which road it took, said Squire Deacon, save and accept it didn't seem to be the right one. Knows about as ugly a road as a man can follow. I guess I spoke too late, after all, said the Squire meditatively. How's your fur news, Mr. Linden? Get a regular? Yes, said Mr. Linden, making due allowance for the irregularity of the steamers. I looked up in no little astonishment, and took the eye, as well as the ear, effective as question and answer, then said quietly, Have you any business in the post office, Mr. Deacon? Not a great deal, Miss Faith, said the Squire, with a blandness on one side of his face, which but poorly set off the other. I go down for the paper once a week, and election times may be oftener, but I don't do much in the letter line. This never was my powder magazine. I shouldn't know where to put two or three feminine letters a week if I got them. If he had got what somebody wanted to give him at that moment, Squire Deacon knew little of what risk he ran, nor how much nearer he was to a powder magazine than he had ever been in his life. A sure sign that nobody will ever trouble you in that way. Faith said somewhat severely, but the Squire was obtuse. Well, I guess likely, he said, and it's just as good they don't. I shouldn't care about living so far from anybody I was tied up in, or tied up to, neither. I can't guess for one how you make out to be contented here, Mr. Linden. How do you know that I do, sir? There was a little pause at that. It was a puzzling question to answer, not to speak of a slight warning which Squire received from his instinct, but the pause was pleasantly ended. Faith, said a gentle voice in the passage, opened the door, child. I've got both hands full, which called Mr. Linden appropriated to himself, and not only opened the door, but brought him the great dish of smoking chestnuts. Faith ran away to get plates for the party, with one of which, in defiance of etiquette, she served first Mr. Linden, and then handed another to the Squire. I hope they're boiled right, Mr. Linden. Have you seen any chestnuts this year, Mr. Deacon? I've seen some, but they weren't good for nothing, said the Squire rather sourly. Thank you, Miss Faith, for your plate, but I guess I'll go. Why stay and eat some chestnut, Squire Deacon, said Mrs. Derrick. Those on the Anticate chestnuts, first right, too. I don't like the Anticate chestnuts, said Squire Deacon Rising. Never did. They're sure to be warmie. Good night, Miss Faith. Good night, Mr. Linden. Mrs. Derrick, this room's hot enough to roast eggs. Why, the windows are open, said Mrs. Derrick, and we might have had the curtains drawn back, too, but I always feel as if someone was looking in, which remarked it not delay the Squire's departure, and Mrs. Derrick followed him to the door, talking all the way. During which little passage Faith's behavior again transcended all rules, for she stood before the dish of chestnuts, fingering one or two with a somewhat unsteady motion of the corners of her mouth, and then put both her hands to her face and laughed, her low but very merriment speaking laugh. Miss Faith, Mr. Linden said, I think Job was an extraordinary man, and that chestnuts are not so bad as are reported after all. Faith became grave, and endeavored to make trial of the chestnuts, without making any answer. Child, said Mrs. Derrick, returning, I don't think the Squire felt just comfortable. I wonder if he's well, which remark brought down the house. By the way, said Mr. Linden looking up, did you lose a bow of ribbon from your sun-bonnet the other day at Nianticate? Faith owned to having lost it somewhere. I found it somewhere, so Mr. Linden, with a rather peculiar look, as he took out the bow of ribbon. Where did you find it, Mr. Linden? Found it here, in Petticocet. Where? But he shook his head at the question. I think I will not tell you. You may lose it again. And all Faith's efforts could get no more from him. End of Chapter 12, Recording by Susanna Mason, on March 21st, 2018. Chapter 13 of Say and Seal. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Say and Seal by Susan Warner. Chapter 13. The Thursday of the Great School Celebration arrived. And according to Faith's expressed wish, the weather had continued warm. It was the very luxury of October, a day for all the senses to despot themselves and revel in a luxurious beauty. But the mind of Petticocet was upon the evening's rebel and upon the beauty of white, cambrick, and blue ribbons. The mind of Faith, Derek, was on somewhat else. Mother, she said, do you know there must be a fire up in Mr. Linden's room as soon as the weather gets cold? Of course, child. Well, there is nothing in the world up there to put wood in. It used to lie on the floor, said Mrs. Derek, as if the past might possibly help the future. That does make a mess. It's not going to lie on the floor now, said Faith. I am going to get Mr. Skip to make me a box, a large box, with a top. And I will cover it with some carpet or dark stuff if you'll give me some, Mother. It must be dark because the wood of the room is. I am going to stuff the top for a seat, and it will look very nice. Anything does that you take hold of, said our Mother. Yes, child, I'll give you all I've got. You can look for yourself and take what you like best. The immediate work of the day was to clear ship, in other words, to do all the day's work in the former part thereof, so as to leave time for the unwanted business of the afternoon. Mrs. Derek even proposed that Faith should get rest. But Faith said there was time enough after dinner, and that meal was gone through with, as usual. With this slight variation in the table talk, Mr. Linden suggested to Faith the propriety of philosophizing a little as a preparative for the dissipation of the evening, and declaring that for the purpose, he would promise to bring his toilet within as narrow bounds as she did hers. Faith's face gave answer in the sort of sparkling of eye and color which generally met such a proposition, and which today was particularly bright with the pleasure of surprise. But, she said warningly, I can dress in very few minutes. So she did, and yet, and yet, she was dressed from head to foot and to the very point of the little white ruffle around her throat. Hair, bright as her hair was, and in the last degree of nice condition and arrangement, the same perfect presentation of hands and feet and white ruffles as aforesaid. That was the most of Faith's dressing. The rest was a plain white cambered frock which had its only setting off in her face and figure. The one touch of color which it wanted, Faith found when she went downstairs. For upon the basket where the phyllis of commonly reposed lay a dainty breastknot of autumn tints, fringed gentian with its delicate blue and oak leaves of the deepest red and a late rose or two. It is a pity there was nobody to see Faith's face, for its tints copied the roses. Surprise and doubt and pleasure made a pretty confusion. She held in her hand the dainty bouquet and looked at it as if the red leaves could have told her what other hand they were in last, which was what Faith wanted to know. A step on the porch, a slight knock at the front door, naturally drew her thoughts and feet thither. But whatever Faith expected, she did not expect to see Sam Stauntenberg. One might almost go further and say he did not expect to see her, for he gazed at her as if she had been an apparition, only that his face was red instead of white. How do you do, Sam, said Faith, coming back a little to everyday life? Do you want to see Mr. Linden? Oh, no, Miss Faith, said Sam, as if it were the last thing in the world he wanted to see. Well, Sam, what then? But Sam was slow to say what then, or indeed to say anything, and what would have been his success is to this day unknown, for at that moment Mr. Linden came downstairs. Do you want me, Sam? He said, approaching the front door. No, sir, said Sam, playing both parts of an unwilling witness. I thought you were out, Mr. Linden. Oh, Mr. Linden said, I beg your pardon. And he not only went into the parlor, but shut the door after him. To no purpose. With him went the remnant of Sam Stauntenberg's courage, if he had had any to begin with. And after one more glance at Faith, he fairly turned his back and fled, without striking his colors. Faith went back to the parlor. What is the matter with the boy, she said? I couldn't get anything out of him, Mr. Linden. A somewhat peculiar smile came with the words, couldn't you? Faith noticed it, but her thought was elsewhere. She came back to the table, took up the flowers, and said a little timidly, Do you know who put these here, Mr. Linden? The look changed. I think I do, he said. Her look did not change, except to a softened reflection of the one with which she had first viewed them. She viewed them still, bending over them doubtfully, then glancing up at him she shook her head and said, You are dressed before me, after all, Mr. Linden, and ran away. She was back again in three minutes with the flowers upon her breast. And if there had been but one adornment in the world that would have fitted her just then, the giver of the flowers had found it. Faith had altered nothing. She had only put them in the right place, and the effect was curious in its beauty. That effect of her flowers was probably the only one unknown to Faith herself, though it was with a face blushing with pleasure that she came in and sat gravely down to be a philosopher. She gave her teacher little trouble and promised to give him less. She had excellent capacity, that was plain, with the eager desire for learning which makes the most of it. Both the power and the will were there to appropriate and use every word of Mr. Linden's somewhat lawless but curiously skillful manner of instructing her. And the simplicity of her attention was perfect. She did not forget her flowers, probably during this particular page of philosophizing, for a little tinge on her cheek never ceased to speak of pleasure all through the time. But that was the sole sign of distraction, if distraction there were. Less greed, but more intent than Mr. Linden himself. The information that Mr. Skip had driven the little wagon round before the door came to her ears all too soon. The drive to the judges was not very long. It might have been three quarters of a mile. So even at the old horse's rate of traveling, they were soon there. Judge Harrison's house was large and old-fashioned. It had much more style about it than any other house in Patek Waset pretended to. And the same was true of its arrangements and furniture. It was comfortable and ample. So was everything in it. With besides that touch of ease and fitness and adaptation which shows always, or generally, that people have lived where there is a freedom from fixed standards. It was so here. For Judge Harrison's family during the lifetime of his wife had always spent their winters and often part of their summers away from Patek Waset. In one of the great cities, New York generally, or at some watering place. It was also, however, an amount of good sense and kind temper in the family which made no difference of intention between them and the rest of Patek Waset when they were there. So that they were extremely popular. Mr. Skip and Old Crab were in very good time. They were not more than half assembled of all the good company asked and expected this afternoon. These were all over, in the house and out of the house, observing and speculating. The house was surrounded with pleasant grounds, spreading on two sides in open, smooth lawns of considerable extent. And behind the house and the lawns, stretching back in a half open shrubbery. On one of the lawns, long tables already shooed their note of preparation. On the other, there was a somewhat ominous array of benches and chairs. And among them all, round and about everything, scattered the people. Mrs. Derrick and Faith went upstairs to the unrobing room where the ladder was immediately taken into consultation by Miss Harrison on some matters which promised to keep them both busy for some time. Mr. Linden, meanwhile, received a very cordial welcome from Judge Harrison, whose cordiality itself. Well, Mr. Linden, we've got a good day. Good for the boys and good for us. We ventured to depart a little from your instructions, but I hope in such a way so as not to compromise you. My son and daughter have managed it. I'll introduce him to you, said the old gentleman looking about, but he's somewhere just now. I should like to know first, Judge Harrison, what my instructions were, said Mr. Linden, as his eyes likewise made search for the missing doctor. Oh, said the judge, all right. I understand your feelings exactly. I used that word because the right one didn't come. I have to do that often. I've heard of the pen of a ready writer. I'm sure I'd rather have the tongue of a ready speaker. But it don't matter for me now. My friends take me as they find me, and so will you. I have little fear. Julius, here's my son, Dr. Harrison, Mr. Linden. Dr. Harrison must have a word of introduction to the reader, though he was one of those who need very little in actual life. He was a handsome man, young but not very young, and came up at his father's call and honored the introduction to his father's guest with that easy grace and address which besides being more or less born with a man, tell that much attrition with the world has been at work to take away all his outward roughnesses of nature. He was handsomely dressed too, though not at all in a way to challenge observation. His coat would have startled nobody in Patequisite, though it might have told another that its wearer had probably seen France, had probably seen England, and had in short lived much in that kind of society which recognizes the fact of many kinds of coats in the world. His greeting of Mr. Linden was both simple and graceful. I am very happy to see you, he said, as he shook hands. I should certainly have come to see you before, but I am more a stranger in Patequisite than anybody. I have hardly been at home since I returned. Business has drawn me to other quarters, and I'm only fortunate enough to be in time for this occasion. It's a good time for me, he said, looking around. I can renew my old acquaintance with everybody at once. I think all Patequisite is here. Not growing out of your remembrance, has it, said Mr. Linden. How long have you been away? Well, it's had time to grow out of everything, especially out of my memory. I've not been here for five years, and then only for a few days, and before that at college. So I may say I've hardly been here since my boyhood. I don't know anybody but the old ones. I shall apply to you if you will allow me, said he, drawing himself and Mr. Linden a little more apart from the center of reception. Who, for instance, is that very well-dressed young lady just entering the hall? Good looking, too. The doctor's face was very quiet. So were his words. But his eye was upon Miss Cecilia Deacon, who in a low-necked blue silk with an amber necklace and jet bracelets was paying her respects to the judge and his daughter. With equal quietness, Mr. Linden made answer. By the way, said the doctor, suddenly I believe we owe this pleasant occasion. Very pleasant, I think it is going to be, to you. Accidentally and innocently, I assure you. Yes, of course, said Dr. Harrison with the air of one who needed no information as to Mr. Linden's view of the subject, no explanation as to its grounds. But, said he, speaking somewhat low, my father has the interests of the school and indeed of all Patekwase truly at heart and my sister has entered into all his feelings. I am a kind of alien, I hope not to be so. But as I was saying, my father and sister putting their heads together have thought it would have a good effect upon the boys and upon certain interests of the community through them and their parents, too, to give some little honors to the best students among them or to the cleverest boys, which, as you and I know, are not precisely synonymous terms. Would you think well of such an expedient? My father is very anxious to do nothing which shall not quite meet your judgment and wish in the matter. I shall leave it in Judge Harrison's hands, said Mr. Linden after a moment's silence. I should be very sorry to gain, say his wishes in any respect. And some of the boys deserve any honors that can be given them. Do they, said the doctor. Can you indicate them to me? No, said Mr. Linden, smiling. I shall leave you to find out. Leave me, said the other. How did you know what office they had charged upon me? Well, I am making as long a speech as if I were a member of Congress. By the way, Mr. Linden, can you imagine what could induce a man to be that particular member of the body politic? It occupies the place of the feet, I think. Such members do little but run to and throw, though I remember I just seemed to give them the place of the tongue unjustly. They don't do the real talk of the world. The real talk, said Mr. Linden. Indeed, I think they do their share. Of talk? Said the doctor with an acute look at his neighbor. Well, as I was saying, my sister has provided, I believe, some red and blue or red and something favors of ribboned to be given to the boys who shall merit them. Not to find out that which you won't tell me I am to do, under your pleasure, some more talking to them in public to see in short how well they can talk to me. Do you like that? Better than they will perhaps as merit is sometimes modest. I assure you I would happily yield the duty into your hands. Who would do it so much better? But I suppose you would say, as somebody else, let my friend tell my tale. Who is that? Said the doctor slowly and softly, like the riding pole of a fence, as little to spare and as rigid, isn't he? And as long. Don't I remember him? You ought. That is Mr. Simlins. Yes, said the doctor musingly, I remember him. I incurred his displeasure once in some boyish way. And if I recollect, he is a man that pays his debts, and that unfortunate next looks like the perspective of a woman. But this lady, Mr. Linden, did not know. She was little, in form and feature, and had besides a certain pinched in look of diminutiveness that seemed to belong to mind as well as body, temper and life. And had procured her the doctor's peculiar term of description. The next thing is, said Dr. Harrison, as his eye slowly roved over the assembled and assembling people. Who is to give the favors? My sister, of course, does not wish to be forward in the business, and I don't, and you don't. I say, the prettiest girl here. I think the hands that prepared the favors should dispense them, said Mr. Linden. But she won't do it, and ladies have sometimes the power of saying no. They're generally persuadable. Who's that, said the doctor with a change of tone, touching Mr. Linden's arm. The one in white with a red bouquet to corsage. She's charming. She's the one. That is Ms. Derrick. She'll do, said the doctor, softly to his companion as faith paused for a quick reading of the judge, and then passed on out of sight. She's charming. Do you suppose she knew what she was about when she put those red leaves and roses together? I didn't know there was that kind of thing in Patec Quasset. Yes, they look very well, said Mr. Linden Cooley. Julius, said Mrs. Summers, laying hold of the elbow, the suggestive coat. What do you mean by keeping Mr. Linden and yourself back here? That's the way with you young men. Stand off and gaze at a safe distance, and then make believe you're fireproof. Don't make believe anything, Aunt Ellen, said the young man lightly. Prove me. You can take me up to the cannon's mouth, or any other, and see if I'm afraid of it. I shall prove you before I take you anywhere, said Mrs. Summers. You needn't talk to me in that style, but it's a little hard upon the boys to keep Mr. Linden here out of sight. Half of them don't know whether they're on their head or their heels, till they see him, and I can tell from their faces. Mr. Linden, said the doctor, with a gesture of invitation to his companion, shall we go? Does it depend upon your face, which of the positions mentioned is to be assumed? The two gentlemen accordingly threaded their way to the scene of action, passing among others Squire Deacon and Mr. Simlins, who Mr. Linden greeted together. Mr. Simlins' answer was a mighty grasp of the hand. Squire Deacons deserved little attention and got it. The party were now on the lawn, at one side of which the boys had clustered and were standing in expectation. I think Mr. Linden said the doctor, if you will explain to the boys what is to become of them in the next hour, I will go and see about the fair distributor of the favors, and then I suppose we shall be ready. It was while Dr. Harrison chose such a messenger, no one else could have brought quietness out of those few dismayed minutes when the boys first learned what was to become of them, and the judge would have felt remorseful about his secret, had he seen the swift wings on which pleasure took her departure from the little group. It took all Mr. Linden's skill not to enforce submission, but to bring pleasure back. Perhaps nothing less than his half laughing, half serious face and words could have kept some of the boys from running away altogether. And while some tried to beg off and some made manful efforts not to feel afraid, others made desperate efforts to remember, and some of the little ones could be reassured by nothing but the actual holding of Mr. Linden's hand in theirs. So they stood, root in and out the trees at the further edge of the lawn till their teacher disengaged himself and came back to the house, leaving the parting directions to say what they knew and not try to say what they knew not. Meanwhile, Dr. Harrison had found his sister, and after a little consulting the two had pressed their father into the service. And then the three sought faith. She was discovered at last on the other lawn by one of the tables. Ms. Harrison having dismayfully recollected that she had asked faith to help her dress them, and then had left her all alone to do it. But faith was not all alone, for Mr. Simlins stood there like a good-natured ogre, watching her handling and disposing of the green leaves and late flowers with which she was surrounded. And now and then giving a most extraordinary suggestion is to the same. Faith, said Ms. Harrison after she had introduced her brother, I want you to give these favors to the boys. Somebody must do it, and I can't, and you must. You see, my dear, said Judge Harrison. Sophie and Julius want their fat to go off as prettily as possible. And so they want you to do this for them because you're the prettiest girl here. Then I can't do it, sir, said Faith. She blushed very prettily to be sure, but she spoke very quietly. Faith, you will do it for me, said Ms. Harrison. I can't, Sophie. Nobody would do it so well as you, half. But I can't do it at all, and Faith went on leaving her dishes. I dare put in no petition of my own, said the doctor then, but I will adventure to ask on the part of Mr. Linden that you will do him in the school such a service. Faith's dark eyes opened slightly. Did he ask you, sir? I cannot answer that, said the doctor, a little taken aback. I have presumed on what I am sure are his wishes. He did not know what to make a verse smile, nor of the simplicity with which Faith answered, in spite of her varying color. You have been mistaken, sir. The doctor gave it up and said he was very sorry. Then who shall do it? said Ms. Harrison. Ms. Essie to staff? She'll do, said the judge. And the doctor, raising his eyebrows a little and dropping his concern, offered his arm to Faith to go to the scene of action. So it happened that as Mr. Linden entered the hall from one side door, he met the whole party coming in from the other, the doctor carrying the basket of blue and red favors which he had taken to present to Faith. But he stood still to let them pass, taking the full effect of the favors, the doctor, the red leaves and their white-robed wearer, and then followed in his turn. All the inhabitants of the house and grounds were now fast gathering on the other lawn. Ms. Sophie and her father separated different ways. The former taking the basket to commit it to Miss to staff and the doctor being obliged to go to his place in the performance, left his charge where he might. But nobody minded his neighbor now. Faith did not. The boys were drawn up in a large semi-circle. And the doctor taking his place in front of them, all in full view of the assembled townsmen of Patekwaset, proceeded to his duty of examiner. He did it well. He was evidently to those who could see it thoroughly at home himself and all the subjects upon which he touched and made the boys touch. So thoroughly that he knew skillfully where to touch and what to expect of them. He shoot himself a generous examiner too. He keenly enough caught the weak and strong points in the various minds he was dealing with. And gracefully enough brought the good to light and only shoot the other so much as was needful for his purposes. He did not catch, nor entrap, nor press hardly. The boys had fair play, but they had favor too. The boys, on their part, were not slow to discover his good qualities. And it was certainly a comfort to them to know that they were acquitted or condemned on right grounds. Beyond that, there were curious traits of character brought to light for those who had eyes to read them. The two head boys, Ruben Taylor and Sam Stoutenberg, though but little apart in their scholarship, were widely different in the manifestation thereof. Sam Stoutenberg's rather off-hand dashing replies generally hit the mark. But the steady, quiet, clear-headedness of Ruben not only placed him in advance, but gave indications which no one could read who would not the key to his character. He colored sometimes, but it was from modesty. While part of Sam Stoutenberg's blushes came from his curls, little Johnny Fax, by dent of fixing his eyes upon Mr. Linden's far off form, he had been petitioned to stand in sight, went bravely through his short part of the performance, and proved that he knew what he knew if he didn't know much. And of the rest, there need nothing be said. Among the lookers on, there were also indications. To those who did not know him, Mr. Linden's face looked as unmoved as the pillar against which he leaned. Yet the varying play of light and shade upon the one was well-repeated in the other. Squire Stoutenberg nodded and smiled to himself and his neighbors and made little aside observations. That, told, sir, always was a good boy, studious. Yes, Ruben Taylor does well, very well, considering who his father is. That father the while stood alone, even beyond the outskirts of the gay party. With Miss Silly's blue dress, he had nothing in common, as little with Faith's spotless white. Dark, weather-beaten, dressed for his boat and the clam banks, he stood there on the green turf as if in a trance. Unable to follow one question or answer, his eager eyes caught every word of Ruben's voice. His intent gaze read first the assurance that it would be right, then the assurance that it was. The whole world might have swept by him in a pageant, and he would scarcely have turned to look. There was one other listener, perhaps, whose interest was as wrapped as his. That was Faith. But her interest was of more manifold character. There was the natural feeling for and with the boys, and there was sympathy for their instructor and concern for his honor, which latter grew presently to be a very gratified concern. Then also Dr. Harrison's examination was a matter of curious novelty. And back of all that, lay in Faith's mind a deep, searching, pressing interest in the subject matters of it. What of all that? She knew. How little. And how much the boys. How vastly much, Dr. Harrison. What far-reaching fields of knowledge there were in some people's minds. Where was Faith's mind going? Yet she was almost as outwardly quiet as Mr. Linden himself. All her shoe of feeling was in the intent eye, the grave face, and a little deepening and deepening tinge in her cheeks. The questioning and answering was over. The boys were all in their ranks. There was a little hush and stir of expectancy. And Dr. Harrison gave his hand to a very bright lady with a basket and led her to a position by his side, filling the eye of the whole assembly. Faith looked over to her with a tiny giving way of the lips which meant a great self-gratulation that she was not in the lady's place. There she stood, very much at home apparently, Miss Essie Distaff, as 50 miles said it once. She was rather a little lady, not very young nor old, dressed in a gay-colored plaid silk with a jaunty little black apron with pockets, black hair and curls behind her ears and a glitter of jewelry. It was not false jewelry, nor ill put on. And this was Miss Essie Distaff. She belonged to the second great family of Patequasset. She too had been abroad and had seen life like the Harrison's. But somehow she had seen it in a different way. And while the Distaffs had the shoe, the Harrison's always had the reality of precedence in the town. And Dr. Harrison, raising slightly again his voice, which was a melodious one, said, the ladies of Patequasset intend to honor with a blue ribboned the five elder boys who have spoken best. And with a favor of red ribboned the five little boys who have done the same on their part. Miss Essie Distaff will do us the honor to bestow them. Ruben Taylor, will you come forward here if you please? The favors made a little stir among the group. And Ruben, who had been too much absorbed in the examination for its own sake, to think much of the question of precedence came forward at first with hesitation, then steadily and firmly. Miss Essie stepped a little forward to meet him, gave her basket to Dr. Harrison, and taking a blue favor from it, she smilingly attached the same securely to the left breast of Ruben's coat. Don't leave your place, said the doctor to him in a low tone. I mean, he added smiling, go back to it and stay there. Sam Staupenberg, the doctor spoke like a man a little amused at himself for the part he was playing. But he did it well, nevertheless. And Ruben, who would at vain put himself and his blue ribboned out of sight behind the rest, went back to his place while Sam stepped briskly forward and received the decoration in turn. Very different his air from Ruben's, very different Ruben's grieve and grateful bend of the head from the way in which Sam's hand covered at once his heart and the blue ribboned. The four boys next in degree to Ruben were severally invested with their blue stars. Johnny Fax, said Dr. Harrison, Miss Essie, you are laying us under nameless obligations. Johnny, come and get your ribboned. Johnny came looking first at Dr. Harrison and then at Miss Essie as if a little uncertain what they were going to do with him. But apparently the fluttering red favor pleased his fancy for he smiled a little and then looked quite a way over Miss Essie's shoulder and she bent towards him, for which neglect of the lady's face, his youth and inexperience must account. But when the favor was on, Johnny's eyes came back and he said simply, thank you, ma'am, shall I keep it always? By all means, said Miss Essie, never part with it. The five little fellows were made splendid and then there was a pause. Miss Essie stepped back and was lost. Dr. Harrison made a sign with his hand and two servants came out on the lawn, bringing between them a table covered with a red cloth. It was set down before Dr. Harrison and his sister came beside him. My dear friends, said the doctor, raising his voice again and giving his sister at the same time the benefit of a slight play of face, which others were not so situated they could see. You have all done yourselves and somebody else a great deal of credit. I hope you will thank him as we wish to show our pleasure to you. It was not to be expected that everybody would be first this time, though on the next occasion I have no doubt that will prove to be the case. But as we could not of course in consequence give stars to all, we will do the best we can. Reuben Taylor, again Reuben came forward. The doctor had pulled off the red cloth and attempting pile of books, large and small, and nicely bound, rose up to view upon the table. And Miss Harrison, as Reuben came near, chose out one of the best and handed it to him saying softly, you have done very well. Now Miss Sophie Harrison was, as everybody knew and said, thoroughly good and kind like her father. She had chosen the books and the one she had given Reuben was a very nice copy of the pilgrim's progress. She might have felt herself repaid by the one earnest look his eyes gave her. Then he bowed silently and retired. The list would be too long to go through. Everyone was pleased this time. The Harrison's had done the thing well and it may only be noted in passing that Johnny Fax's delight and red ribbon were crowned and finished oil with an excellent Robinson Crusoe. Then broke up and melted off the assembled throng like, I want to simile, like the scattering of a vaporry cloud in the sky. It was everywhere and nowhere directly, that which before had been a distinct mass. Faith, said Miss Cecilia, almost before this progress or dispersion commenced, where did you get such a pretty nose gate this time of year? They grew, said Faith, smiling. Did they come out of your own garden? We don't keep oak trees in our garden. I declare, it's elegant. Faith, give me just one of those red leaves, won't you? I want it. No indeed, said Faith, starting back and shielding the oak leaves with her hand as that of Miss Deacon approached them. What are you thinking of? Thinking of, said Cecilia, coloring. So, Faith, I hear you've set up for a school teacher? I've one little scholar, said Faith quietly. There isn't much setting up, Cecilia. One scholar, said Cecilia, contemptuously. Didn't you go over with all the boys to a Neante cut the other day? Yes, said Faith, laughing. Indeed I did, but I assure you, I didn't go to teach school. Miss Derrick, said Dr. Harrison, offering his arm to Faith. My sister begs the favor of your assistance, instantly and urgently. You know I presume for what? Yes, I know Dr. Harrison, said Faith, smiling. I left it unfinished. And the two walked away together. Seems to me, Mr. Simlins, said Squire Deacon, watching Faith and her convoy with a certain Saturnine satisfaction. I say it seems to me that the judge ain't making the thing right side upwards. The boys get all the prizes. Without Dr. Harrison thinks he has. And the teacher don't seem to be much count. Now what a handsomer thing it would have been to make the boys get him something with their own hard cash. A pleasure boat, added the Squire, or a Bible, or anything of that sort. I thought all this filestration was to set him up. Mr. Simlins gave a kind of grunt. He didn't pulled him down much, he said, as I see. And I suppose Judge Harrison thinks that driving wedges under a church steeple is a surrogate work. Without he saw it was toplan. Without getting any too clear a notion of the meaning of these words, it took a lively imagination to follow Mr. Simlins in some of his flights. The Squire yet perceived enough to stay his own words a little. And he passed away the tedium of the next few minutes by peering around the corner of the house and getting far off glimpses of Faith. She looks most like a spectral illusion, he said admiringly. The tablecloth's ain't bleached a bit wider in her dress. She ain't no more like a specter than I'm like a ghost, said Mr. Simlins. Washington iron all make a white frock for any woman. Then stalking up to Mr. Linden accosted him grimly after his fashion. Well, Mr. Linden, what do you think of that farm at Neanticut? Don't you want to take it up me? There were too many fences between me and it was a smiling reply. It's good land, Mr. Simlins went on. You can't do better than settle down there. I'd like to have you for a tenant. Give you the land easy. Let me pay you in nuts, said Mr. Linden. But then came up other farmers and heads of families to claim Mr. Linden's attention. Men whose boys were at the school and who now in various states of gratification, but all gratified, came one after another to grasp his hand and thank him for the good he had done and was doing them. You're the first man, Cerys, said one abroad-shouldered, tall, strong man with a stern, reserved face. You're the first man that has been able to make that boy of mine, Phil, attend to anything or go to school regular. He talks hard sometimes, but you do what you like with him, Mr. Linden. I give you my leave. He's smart and he ain't a bad boy at heart, but he's wild and he has his own way and it ain't always a good one. His mother never had any government of him, said the father looking towards the identical person whom Dr. Harrison had characterized as the perspective of a woman and who certainly had the air of one whose mind, what she had, was shut up and shut off into the further extremities of possibility. Then came up Judge Harrison. Well, Mr. Linden, I hope you have been gratified. I have. I declare I have. Very much. You are doing a great thing for us here, sir, and I don't doubt it is a gratification to you to know it. I haven't made up my mind what we shall do to thank you. We've been thanking the boys, but that's, you know, that's a political expedient. My heart's in the other thing. Squire Deacon was giving me about the same perspective of the case, said Mr. Simlins. Only he thought he weren't the one to do the talking. Mr. Linden's face, through all these various graduations, have been a study. One part of his nature answered eye to eye and hand to hand. The thanks and pleasures were variously expressed. But back of that lay something else, a something which gave even his smile a tinge. It was the face of one who, patiently and still expectant, looked out through the wooden bars. Sometimes grave at others, a queer sense of his own position seemed to touch him. And his manner might then remind one of a swift winged bird, who walking about on the grass for business purposes, is complimented by a company of crickets on his superior powers of locomotion. And it was with almost a start that he answered Judge Harrison. Thank me, sir? I don't think I deserve any thanks. I am sure we owe them, said the judge, but that's another view of the case, I know. Well, it's a good kind of debt to owe and to pay. And he was lost again among some other of his guests. In the gradual shifting and melting away of groups, it happened that Mr. Linden found himself for a moment alone when the doctor again approached him. Did I do your office well, he said gently, and half putting his arm through Mr. Linden's, is it to lead him to the house? The answer was laughingly given. What poet would not mourn to see his brother right as well as he? Well, said the doctor, answering the tone, did I hit your boys, the right ones? My boys in point of scholarship, yes, almost as carefully as I should. I'm glad you were satisfied, said the doctor, and I'm glad it's over. What sort of a life do you lead here in Patequacet? I don't know it. How can one get along here? He's spoken a careless sort of confidential manner as perfectly aware that his companion was able to answer him. They were very slowly sauntering up to the house. One can get along here in various ways, said Mr. Linden. As in other places, one can, if one can, subside to the general level, or one can would, like qualification, rise above it. The paths through Patequacet are in no wise peculiar, yet by no means alike. No, said the doctor, with another side look at him, I suppose as much. I see you're a philosopher. Do you carry a spirit level about with you? Divine, said Mr. Linden with a smile, which certainly belonged to the last philosopher he had been in company with. I see you do, said the doctor. What's your opinion of philosophy? That it adds to the happiness of the world in general? You ask broad questions, Dr. Harrison, considering the many kinds of philosophy and the unphilosophical state of the world in general. The doctor laughed a little. I don't know, said he. I sometimes think the terms have changed sides, and that the world in general has really the best of it. But do you know what particular path in Patequacet we are treading at this minute? A path where philosophy and happiness are supposed to part company, I imagine, said Mr. Linden. Precisely, said the doctor. By the way, if anything in my father's house or library can be of the least convenience to you while you are traveling, the somewhat unfurnished ways of Patequacet, I hope you will use both as your own. Yes, I am taking you to the supper table, or indeed there, plural, tonight. Sophie, I have brought Mr. Linden to you, and I leave you to do what you will with him. End of Chapter 13. Chapter 14 of Say and Seal. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kay Hand. Say and Seal by Susan Warner. Chapter 14. With a slight congee, the doctor left Thorn and went back again, and then came the full rush of all the guests, small and great. Miss Harrison claimed Mr. Linden's assistance to marshal and arrange the boys at their table, one being given especially to them, and then established him as well as circumstances permitted at another, between Miss Cecilia Deacon and Miss Essie de Staff. Miss Harrison herself did not sit down. The guests were many, and the servants far too few, and Miss Harrison and her brother, with one or two helpers of whom faith was one, went round from table to table, attending to everybody's wants. The supply of all eatables and drinkables was ample and perfect enough, but without the quick and skillful eyes and hands of these educated waiters, the company could not have been entirely put in possession of them. So Faith's red oak leaves did, after all, adorn the entertainment, and publicly, though most unconsciously, on her part. Ruben, she whispered at his shoulder, there are no roast clams here, shall I give you some jelly? I see you have got substantial. No thank you, Miss Faith, said Ruben, adding, with some hesitation. I believe it's ungrateful in me, but I don't want to eat. Are you eating your book all the while? I'm so glad, Ruben, where is your father? I think he's home, Miss Faith, he must be by this time. Home? I'm sorry, I've been looking for him. Sam, what can I get you? Coffee? Miss Faith, said Sam, standing up in his place. I'd rather have one of those leaves you've been wearing all day than all the coffee that ever was burnt. Leaves, you foolish boy, said Faith, her own color in an instant emulating them, and as before, her hand went up to shield them. I can't give you one of these, Sam. I'll bring you some coffee. Away she ran, coming back presently with a cup and a piece of jelly cake, bestowing a fellow piece upon Ruben. You can get plenty of oak leaves anywhere, Sam, she said, laughing a little. But you haven't worn them, Miss Faith, and I can't keep this, said Sam, surveying the cake with a very serio-comic face. Well, who wants to? Said Joe Deacon, hand us over the other cake. That's got nothing between. If you're setting up to get round anybody, Sam Stoutenburg, you'll find there's two or three in a bunch, I tell you. Which remark, Faith, was happily too far off to hear. Faith, said Mrs. Summers, leaning back and stopping her as she passed. Do you know why I let Sophie keep you running about, so? I like to do it, Mrs. Summers. Well, that's not the reason. You ought to sit at the head of the table for your skill in arranging flowers. I didn't know it was in you, child. And Mrs. Summers bent closer to Faith to take the breath of the roses, but softly, for she loved flowers herself. Faith bore it jealously, for she was frayed of another invading hand, and blushing at the praise she could not disclaim ran away as soon as she was free. But as the tide of supper time began to ebb, the doctor arrested Faith in her running about and saying that his sister had had no supper yet and wanted company, led her to the places Ant had spoken of, a clear space at one end of the table, where the doctor also discovered he hadn't taken no supper. The rest of the party sat at ease, where began to scatter again about the grounds. A new attraction was appearing there in the shape of Chinese lanterns which the servants and others were attaching in great numbers to the trees and shrubbery. The sun went down, the shades of evening were fast gathering. At last, Mrs. Harris and the Rose. When the lamps are lit, Miss Derrick, said the doctor as they followed her example, there is a particular effect which I will have the pleasure of shooing you, if you will allow me. Dr. Harrison, how do you do, said a voice that sounded like, perhaps as much like the bark of a red squirrel as anything, and a little figure with everything faded but her ribbons and everything full but her cheeks, looked up with a pair of good, kind, honest eyes into the doctor's face. It makes a body feel young, or old, I don't know which, to see you again, she said. Though indeed I know just how old you are without looking into the Bible. Not, but that's a good place to look for various things. And there's a great variety of things there. If a body had time to read them all, which I haven't. I used to read like a scribe when I was young, till my eyes got bad. But a body can't do much without eyes, especially when they have to sew all the time as I do. I always did think it was one indemnification for being a man, that a body wouldn't have to sew. Nor do much of anything else. For man works from son to son, but a woman's work is never done. And I always think the work after sundown comes hardest. It does to me, because my eyes are so bad. Well, Miss Silly, don't your dress fit? It may be proper to mention that this last sentence was a little undertone. You have given me, Miss Bezac, said the doctor, but I have wanted all my life until now. An indemnification for being a man. Is that the way they talk over in France? Said Miss Bezac. While it don't make a body want to go there, there's that about it. And there always is something about everything. And I have something to say to you, Faith, so don't you run away. You've done running enough for one day, besides. Faith was in no danger of running away. For while Miss Bezac was running off her sentences, a little low voice at Faith's side, said, ma'am, by way of modestly drawing her attention to Johnny Fax and his red ribboned. Faith stooped down to be nearer the level of the red ribboned. You did bravely, Johnny, and you got a book too. I guess Mr. Linden was pleased with you tonight, she added softly. Oh, he's always pleased with me, said Johnny, simply, but I wasn't brave, ma'am. I was frightened. Then, in a lower tone, as if he were telling a great secret, Johnny added, I'm coming to you next Sunday, if it's cold weather, and looked up in her face to see the effect of this mysterious announcement. You, Johnny, said Faith, with a flash of remembrance of the time she had last seen him, which made her almost sorrowful. Well, dear, we'll do the best we can, she added in a tone which was sweet at least as tenderness could make it. The child looked at her a little wistfully. Mr. Linden says he don't think I'm big enough to keep warm out of doors any more, he said with childish inexplicitness. I don't think you are, said Faith. Well, Johnny, you come to me next Sunday, and we'll try. And she gave him what Sam Stoutenburg would probably have mortgaged his life for, a soft touch of her lips upon his cheek. And Sam Stoutenburg was not far off. Miss Faith, he said as she rose to her former position. Stand out of the way, Johnny, there's a good boy. Man, I see you home tonight. Please don't refuse me everything. There isn't room in the wagon, Sam, said Faith. Are you going to ride, said Sam? But I may go with you to the wagon. Yes, if you like, said Faith, looking a little puzzled and amused. I suppose you may. Are there any more to come? Said Miss Bezac, whose patience had outlasted that of Dr. Harrison. Because if there are, I'd rather wait. I don't like to be stopped when once I begin. If I was you, Faith, how pretty you look. I'd keep still and not let my head be turned. The old directions the best. And after all, directions are more than dresses. For what's the odds between an embroidered vest and a plain one? Not that it's much to embroider it. I used to fiddle-faddle many a one till I lost my eyes. And I'll teach you to do it in a minute, if you like. With which kind and lucid proposal, Miss Bezac put her hands softly on Faith's waist and smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle in the white dress. Dear Miss Bezac, said Faith, not losing her amused. Look, I don't want to embroider waistcoats. What are you talking of? I know, said Miss Bezac, and I suppose that's enough. If folks don't know what you mean, they can't say anything against it. But you don't know what you want, child, any more than I did. And do you know? Sometimes I wish I'd never found out. But whenever you do know, you can come to me and I'll fix you off so you won't know yourself. It's a pleasant way to lose a body's identity I can tell you. Now give me a kiss and I'll go, for I live to other side of creation, where you never come. And why don't you come and bring him? I don't see, but I've seen him in spite of you. Here he comes too, said Miss Bezac, so I'll be off. There was such a variety of confusions in this speech that Faith was hopeless of setting them right. She stood looking at the speaker and did not try. However, everybody was accustomed to Miss Bezac's confusions. Are you pledged to stand still on this particular spot, Mr. Linden said at her side? No, indeed, said Faith with a ready smile. But people have been talking to me. Yes, and there is no telling how many I shall interfere with if I take you away now. I don't care, said Faith. Only Dr. Harrison said he wanted to shoe me something when the lamps were lit. When they are lighting or when they are lit? When they are lit, he said. Well, they are not lit yet, said Mr. Linden, and before they are, I want you to get a view of people and things in twilight perspective. For which purpose, Miss Faith, I must take you to the extreme verge of society and the lawn, if you will let me. I would like to go anywhere you please, Mr. Linden, and Faith's face gave modest token that she would like it very much. He gave her his arm, and then by skillful navigation, kept clear of the groups most likely to interrupt their progress, passing rather towards the boy quarter, making Sam Stoutenberg's sigh and Joe Deacon whistle with the most frigid disregard of their feelings. The shrubbery at the foot of the lawn was in more than twilight now, and its deeper shadow was good to look out from, giving full effect to the dying light on earth and sky. The faint rose-colored clouds hung over a kaleidoscope of dresses, which was ever shifting and making new combinations, passing into black spots in the shadow of the trees, performing a broad spread of patchwork on the open lawn. The twilight perspective was far more witching than the sunlight full view. How pretty that is, said Faith, delightedly. Thank you, Mr. Linden. I don't believe Dr. Harrison will shoe me any effect so good as this. How pretty and odd it is. Don't you know, he said, that you should never thank me for doing pleasant things? Why, Mr. Linden? She said in a tone a little checked. Why, because I like to do them. Well, she said, laughing slightly. That makes me want to thank you more. It don't make me deserve the thanks, however. Do you perceive the distant blue of Miss Cecilia's dress? Does it make you think of the blue ether over your head? Not the least, said Faith, much amused. What makes you ask me that, Mr. Linden? I should like to hear why it does not. The two things are so very, very far apart, Faith said, after a moment's consideration. I don't see what could make me think of them together. The only thing is that both are blue, but I should have to think to remember that. You haven't answered me yet, he said, smiling. Why are they far apart? Your blue genetians there are as far below the sky in number of miles, yet from them to the sky, the transition is easy. Yes, said Faith, looking down at her blue genetian. Why is it, Mr. Linden? But this is God's work, too, she added softly. I suppose that is the deep root of the matter. The ruined harp of man's nature yet answers to a breath from heaven as to no other touch. Then blue has been so long the emblem of truth that separated from truth one can scarce, as you say, realize what color it is. Then Mr. Linden, said Faith, after a moment's silence, with the tone and the look of quick pleasure. Is this what you meant by reading things? Yes, he said with a smile, to rightly spell of every star that heaven doth shoe and every herb that sips the dew. But how far can you read, said Faith, and I never thought of such reading till a little while ago. How far can you read, Mr. Linden? I don't know, he said, because I don't know how far I cannot read. Yet if the invisible things of God may be known by the things which are seen, there is at least room for ample study. To some people, Miss Faith, the world is always, with the change of one adjective, an incomprehensible little green book. While others read a few pages now and look forward to knowing the whole hereafter. There was a pause, a little longer than usual. And you say I must not thank you, Faith said, very low. I say I think you have no cause. She was silent. Has the day been pleasant, Mr. Linden asked as they walked up and down? Yes, very pleasant. I liked what you didn't like, Mr. Linden, all that examination business, and I was very glad for Rubin and little Johnny. How do you know I didn't like it? I don't know, I thought you didn't, she said, looking at him. You don't like to say why? Yes, I thought you didn't like it, Mr. Linden, when Judge Harrison first proposed it. You wished he would give us the pleasure without the shooing off. Well, did you also know, he said, with a peculiar little smile, that one of my best scholars was not examined? No, who do you mean, she said earnestly? He laughed and answered, one who would perhaps prefer a private examination at home, and to whom I have thought of proposing it. An examination, said Faith, wondering and with considerable heightening of color, either at the proposal or at the rank among scholars assigned her. You need not be frightened, Mr. Linden said gravely. If anybody should be, it is I at my own boldness. I am a little afraid to go on now, though it is something I have long wanted to say to you. What is it, Mr. Linden? She said timidly. I have thought, he paused a moment and then went quietly on, you have given me reason to think that there are other desirable things besides French of which you have no knowledge. I've wished very much to ask you what they are and that you would let me, so far as I can, supply the deficiency. It was said with simple frankness, it was a manner that fully recognized the delicate ground he was on. The rush of blood to Faith's face he could see by the lamplight, but she hesitated for an answer and hesitated, and her head was bent with the weight of some feeling. I should be too glad, Mr. Linden, she said at last, very low, but with unmistakable emphasis. Then if you will let me see tomorrow what you are doing with that other little book, I will see what companions it should have. And warned by the kindling lamps on every side, he led the way a little more into the open lawn, that Faith might at least be found if sought. That allowed him to see, too, the look he had raised in her face, the little smile on the lips, the flush of color, the stir of deep pleasure that kept her from speaking. Yet when they had taken a few steps on the broad lawn and other people would soon be nearing them, she suddenly said softly, what other book do you mean, Mr. Linden? I didn't know how many there may be, Miss Faith, but I meant one which I tried to get at the store one day and found that the last copy had passed into your hands. The arithmetic, said Faith, that was how you knew it. There is Dr. Harrison looking for me, she added, in a tone which gentle as it was would have turned that gentleman to the right about if he had heard it, which he did not, and if he had not been indifferent on the point of all such tones, which he was. Stars shine by their own light, said the doctor, as he came up. I have no need to ask, whereas Miss Derrick, your Quercus rubra, there is brilliant at any distance with a red gleam. You have Mars on your breast and Hesperus in your eye. It is heaven on earth. Faith could not choose but laugh at the mixture of gallantry and fun and flatter in the doctor's manner, though his meaning was to her doubtful. Other answers she made, none. And so, said Mr. Linden, you make the stars shine by their own light, and Miss Derrick by the light of the stars. Advances constantly making in the sciences, said the doctor with a wave of his hand. I dare say you are a better astronomer than I am. I haven't kept up with the latest discoveries. But Mr. Linden, may I interfere with your heaven for a moment and persuade these stars to shine for that length of time, upon less favored regions? With another revolution of the earth, they will rise upon you again. I shall not persuade the stars for you, said Mr. Linden. I will endeavor so far, said the doctor, turning to faith. I had the honor to offer to shoe Miss Derrick the peculiar effect of Chinese lanterns at Patakwassit. May I hope that she will allow me to fulfill my promise. He took possession of faith and with a graceful au revoir to Mr. Linden led her away. The effect of the lanterns was very pretty, and to her eyes very curious. So were the lanterns themselves, before one and another of which faith stopped and looked with charmed eyes, and the doctor nothing loath gave her charming details. After all it is only child's play, he said as he turned away. Why should we want Patakwassit to look like China? For one night, said Faith. Well, for one night, said the doctor. But you haven't got little feet on, have you? He said, looking down at the edge of Faith's white dress and muck alarm. I shouldn't like the transformation to go too far. Faith laughed. Reassure me, said the doctor. Nothing can be more unlike the Mongol type than the pure Circassian I have before me. Yeah, let me see the slipper. I want to be sure that all is right. He persisted, and to stop the absurdity of the thing, Faith shooed him, not indeed her slipper, but the most un-Chinese, un-French, neat little shoe thick enough for walking in which she had come to Judge Harrison's party. Alimingly near, said the doctor, peering at it. But the proportions are perfect. It is not Chinese. Thank you. I've seen so many odd things in my life, Miss Derek, and people that I never know what to expect, and anything right, from head to foot, is a marvel. They moved on again and sauntered round and round in the paths of the shrubbery. Faith hardly knew wither. In truth, the doctor's conversation was amusing enough to leave her little care. Very few indeed were the words he drew from her, but with all their simplicity and modesty, he seemed to be convinced that there was something behind them worth pleasing. At least he laid himself out to please. He easily found that what she knew of life and the world was very little, that she was very ready to take any glimpses he would give her into the vast unknown region so well known to him. Always in his manner, carelessly graceful, Faith never dreamed of the real care with which she brought up subjects, and discussed them, that he thought would interest her. He told of distant countries and scenes. He detailed at length foreign experiences. He described to people. He gave her pictures of manners and customs, all new to her ears, strange and delightful, and so easily, yet so masterly given, that she took it all in an easy, full flow of pleasure. So it happened that Faith did not very well know how they turned and wound in and out through the walks. She was in Switzerland, and at Paris sent it Rome all the while. She came back pretty suddenly to Patacoste. As they paused to watch the glitter of one of the lamps on the shining leaves of a holly tree, several of the boys seeking their own pleasure came sauntering by. The last of these had time to observe her and swaggering close up under her face said, loud enough to be heard. Ye ain't neither. I know ye ain't. Ruben Taylor says ye ain't. The lamplight did not serve to reveal Faith's changes of face and color. Neither did Dr. Harrison wait to observe them. What do you mean, sir? He said, catching hold of the boy's arm. Why do you speak so to a lady? What isn't she? Somebody's sweetheart, said the boy resolutely. She ain't. Ruben Taylor says she ain't. You'll never be my fine fellow, said the doctor, letting him go. If you don't learn more discretion, I must tell Mr. Linden his boys want a trifle of something besides algebra. That don't give all the relative values of things. Pray do not. Don't speak of it, Dr. Harrison, said Faith. He tried to see her face, but he could not. Hardly worthwhile, he said lightly, boys will be boys, which is an odd way of excusing them for not being civilized things. However, if you excuse him, I will. Faith said nothing. She was trying to get over the sudden jar of those words. They had not told her anything she did not believe. She thought no other. But they gave her, nevertheless, a keen stir of pain, a revival of the pain she had quieted at Neantikot. And somehow this was worse than that. Could Ruben Taylor talk about herself? Could Ruben Taylor have any authority for doing it? But that question would not stand answering. Faith's red oak leaves were a little aegis to her then. A tangible, precious representative of all the answer that question would not wait for. No sting of pain could enter that way. But the pain was bad enough. And under the favoring shadowy light of the lamps, she strove and strove to quiet it, while the doctor went on talking. Indeed, said he, going on with the subject of Phil's speech, I am obliged to him for his information, which was, of course, incorrect. But I am very glad to hear it, nevertheless. Other people's sweethearts, you know, are tabooed, sacred ground, not to be approached without danger to all concerned. But now, if you will allow me, I think I shall claim you for mine. Whatever look the words may have, they did not sound rude. They were said with a careless, half-amused, half-gentle manner, which might leave his hearer in doubt whether the chief purpose of them were not to fall pleasantly on her ear and drive away any disagreeable remainders of Phil's insolence. But faith scares her to him. She was struggling with that unbidden pain and trying with all the simplicity and truth of her nature and with the stronger help she had learned to seek, to fight it down. She had never thought such an utterly vain thought as that suggested in Phil's words. In her humility and modesty she chid herself that it should have come into her head even when other people's words had forced it there. Her humility was very humbled now. And in it she quietly took up with the good she had, of which her roses were even then breathing sweet reminders in her face, putting from her all thought of good that did not belong to her and she could not deserve. The uncertain light favored her well, where Dr. Harrison would have seen too much of her face play. They had been going on and on and the doctor had been as usual talking and she had managed now and then to seem to give an answer. She never remembered to what. And her part in the conversation all along had been so modestly small that the doctor hardly knew when or whether she had ceased to comprehend him. But they emerged at last upon the lawn where faith was taken possession of and marched off by the old judge, nothing loath. The doctor casting about for another fish to throw his line at, spied Ruben Taylor, standing alone, eyeing as Mr. Linden and faith had done the gay scene about the house, now gay with the many colored lamps. Well, my man, said the doctor, easily accosting him as he stood there. You did very well this afternoon. How long have you been at the school? Ruben made answer with his usual respectful courtesy. Are you a friend of Miss Derrick's? I think Miss Derrick is my friend, sir, said Ruben, with a little flush. Is she, said the doctor. Well, don't you think that comes to the same thing? No, sir. No, what's the difference? I'm not examining you now. I'm asking for information. I think you must know, sir, said Ruben, respectfully, but firmly, after a glance at his questioner. Do you, said the doctor, laughing slightly? Well, if you are not her friend, it don't signify. I was going to remark to you, if you were, that ladies don't generally care to have their private affairs talked about. And however much you may know, it is not always worthwhile to tell it. I neither know nor have said anything, Dr. Harrison, said Ruben, drawing himself up a little and looking full in the doctor's face. You're Ruben Taylor, aren't you? Yes, sir. I'm not anybody else, though. No, said the doctor carelessly. Well, it isn't necessary you should be for present purposes. I heard you quoted as authority, just now, on something which touched that lady's affairs, whose friend you say you are not. And I think your friend, though she may be, she was not particularly gratified with your interference. Miss Faith knew it was a wrong quotation, said Ruben quietly. You are sure of that? Quite sure, sir, if it was anything about her which ought not to have said. Don't know that it was, said the doctor. It's well enough sometimes to set people right when they are wrong, but I say is that ladies don't always thank one for it. Ruben flushed a little. You don't know me, Dr. Harrison, he said. I can't expect you to take my word, but I have nothing to add to it. And I have nothing to add to mine, said the doctor lightly. I heard you quoted, that's all. I supposed you would know what for. Who did you hear, sir? Don't know really, said the doctor. Only he was a rude fellow. If you can tell one by such a description among your mates, it was he. And the doctor strolled away. Ruben on his part seemed to recognize the description. For taking a sort of intuitive beeline through people and trees, he suddenly brought up with the question. Phil Davids, what have you been saying about me? I suppose you think folks have nothing to do but talk about you now. You're a long way out, was the careless answer. What did you say I said? Said Ruben. I never heard you say anything as I know that was worth telling over. When I do, I'll let somebody know. I tell you. I suppose that means you won't answer my question, said Ruben. What I want to know is not what I said, but what you say I said. About what? About Miss Faith Derrick. I don't say you said nothing about her. I never heard you call her name as I know. Like enough, said Ruben, where they sort of resolute to patients. But what did you say I said that had to do with her in any way? Who do you think you are? Said Phil. I'll tell you what, Phil Davids, said Sam Stoutenberg, who had heard the last question or two. If you don't keep your tongue off Miss Derrick, I'll pitch you up into a pine tree so far that you'll see stars before you come down. Or I'm not Stoutenberg nor Stout neither, said Sam. And Sam, who was a little of a young giant, backed Phil up against the tree that was nearest in a sort of preparatory way that was rather breathless. Phil, however, was as tough as shoe leather. Suppose and you keep your eyes off her then, he said, struggling. It's a poor rule that don't work both ways. What have you been about, said Sam? Come, own up for once, just to try how it feels. What have you, said Phil? I ain't up to half as many shines as you, Sam Stoutenberg. I should think not, said Sam, disdainfully. Oh, let him alone, Sam, said Ruben, what's the use? Little enough use, said Sam, more matter either. Everybody knows Phil Davids. Pity would make his own acquaintance. In releasing his prisoner, Sam turned disdainfully and Ruben sorrowfully towards the house. But Ruben did not go very near. A wistful look or two towards the lighted front and the clustering guests, and he paused, leaving Sam to go on alone. Sam's bashfulness was happily not of the uncompromising kind, therefore he not only found Faith, but she found him, ready to claim her promise, the very moment she was ready to go. But I don't know whether the wagon is here, Sam, said Faith. Other wagons were come and driving off, and a little procession of colors was setting forth on foot, up and down the street from Judge Harrison's. The hall was full of people, getting hoods on and taking leave. One miss Faith, said Sam, we can walk to where it ought to be, and if it isn't there, maybe you'll let me go further. But I can't go without seeing my mother, Sam, and I don't know where she is. Sam Stoutenburg, said Mr. Linden's voice, while the speaker laid both hands on the boy's shoulders. What are you about? Miss Faith said, I might go as far as the wagon with her, said Sam, looking down. The wagon is not here, said Mr. Linden. Mr. Skip is probably asleep. Then I may see you home, Miss Faith, was the joyous comment. Sam Stoutenburg, said Mr. Linden again, preventing Faith's reply and giving Sam a gentle shake. Is it one favor a day enough for you? He added presently. No sir, said Sam, boldly. I suppose I must give way before I blue ribboned, said Mr. Linden, smiling, yet as if he was much inclined to lift Sam out of the way. Miss Faith, the matter is in your hands. But Faith did not smile and looked, or was it his fancy, ever so little care worn? What matter, Mr. Linden? She said simply, whether you will take charge of this boy as far as his father's gate, I will try and take care of you after that. Will that do, Sam? said Faith pleasantly, as she threw her scarf over her head. I am glad to go any distance with you, Miss Faith, said Sam, but half content or a quarter, for that was the distance assigned him. Well, behave yourself then, said Mr. Linden, removing his hands. A parting injunction Sam's dignity would have dispensed with. End of chapter 14.