 15. The evening was very still. A little too cool for inset voices, a little too late in the season for nightbirds. The soft dropping of the yellow leaves scares stood those already fallen. Few sounds came from the houses, for all patec asset had been out, and that portion which had got home was tired and thinking of bed, while the few stragglers yet abroad were far from the late scene of action on their lonely homeward roads. Squire Deacon, with Joe for a thorn in his side, was opening his own door for Miss Celia and Miss Betia Bezac, at the other side of creation, mused over the possibility of again without eyes embroidering waistcoats. Thus, when the clock struck eight, the earth seemed asleep and the stars had watched over it. At about that point of time, Sam Stoutenborough and his fair companion were near the parting gate, and Sam, not supposing himself within range of other eyes, had bent down over fate's glove in a very demonstrative manner, and she would certainly have received an unwanted proof of his devotion, if Mr. Linden, who had in truth been all the time not very far off, had not just then been very near. Take care, Sam, he said. You are exceeding directions. A remark which sent Sam through the gate with more haste than coolness, while Mr. Linden stepped forward into his place. Your mother rode home with Mrs. Somers, Miss Faith, and this little shawl was requested to walk home with you. He said, wrapping it round her, for which he received a quiet little thank you. He put her hand on his arm, and once past the gate walked very slowly, moderating his steps to hers, and taking the most leisurely pace, perhaps to give her the full sedative effect of the night, those faint breaths of air, that soft hush of everything, that clear starry sky, so high, so still. There was balm in them all. And for a while Mr. Linden let them do their work alone. Then he spoke. One of my scholars is very tired tonight. I am afraid I have done wrong in letting her walk home. Oh no! said Faith with a little start. I like to walk very much, Mr. Linden. It's very pleasant, and I'm not tired. She added, in a soft, quiet voice. What is the difference between being tired and being in want of rest? She looked at him again, and her words did not come at once. I suppose the difference is, that in one case you can get what you want, and in the other you have to wait for it. Till when? She laughed somewhat uneasily, and asked him what he meant. I hardly know how to make my question plainer, Miss Faith. I suppose I am of an impatient disposition, but the idea of waiting an indefinite time for rest is not pleasant to me. But can you always get it as soon as you would like to have it? Faith asked with a kind of timid doubt, as not knowing but his power might extend so far. Why not? Seeing rest is like some sweet wind, which cannot blow its soft gale till there is a clear space for it. Why should it linger when the space is clear? Why not rest when we are weary? But can you always get the clear space for it? Faith asked, looking at him wanderingly. He smiled. I am talking of what may be done, Miss Faith, not of what I do, but I wish you would let me try my powers for you tonight. How comes there to be a demand? How comes there not to be a supply? Of rest, said Faith. Oh, there is, at least, she added reluctantly. There will be. There is now, Mr. Linden. Equal to the demand. Why do you ask me? She said, a little troubled. I believe I have a bad habit of asking questions, said Mr. Linden, and his tone was apologetic in its very gentleness. It is partly my fault and partly Pet's. Partly whose, Mr. Linden? Said Faith. I don't think it's a bad habit. Whose fault did you say? Pet's. My sister's. Into whose company I hope to send you soon again. Oh, I mustn't thank you, said Faith, beginning and stopping herself somewhat comically. I don't know whether you will thank me for taking you past your own gate, which I was about to do, said Mr. Linden. And I don't know whether the social and astronomical days ought to agree, but Hesperus said some time ago. I don't understand, Mr. Linden, said Faith, pausing. You must not expect to understand all astronomical things till you have studied astronomy, he said with a smile. The practical application of my words is to sleep, that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care, worn labor's bath, balm of hurt minds. With which superrific potion he bade her good night, and Faith went to her room marveling what could have put into Mr. Linden's head just those particular words, and whether he had a quality of vision that could see through flesh and blood. And a little in doubt, whether or not, in the circumstances, to find the words or the surmise bomb me. But if she wanted rest that night, or seemed to have wanted it, she had found it the next day, for she was all like herself. To speak with her own scrupulosity, there was perhaps just a shade of quieter gravity on her face and touching her smile than there had been the day before, and that shade she kept. It is a notable fact that when pleasure with her wand has roused into lively motion the waters of some mortal lake, she straightway departs, taking with her the sparkles, the dancing foam, and leaving the disturbed waves to deposit at their leisure the sediment which she has stirred up. Withered leaves flung upon the bank, a spot here and there of discoloured froth. These are what remain. Thus, in the quiet nooks and corners of Paddock Asset, were trophies not too bright of the celebration. Thus did Paddock Asset people behold some of the hidden evil in their neighbours, and likewise in themselves. The boys indeed maintained their serenity, and kept pleasure with them, but in other quarters there were some heartburnings, most of all at Squire Deacons. Relieved at first by the idea of a new rival, then by some intuitive belief thrown off that ground of comfort, the Squire was much in the condition of the man who wanted to commit an assault upon every small boy he met, for boys were to him representatives. But deprived by the law of this manly way of expressing his feelings, the Squire sought some other. For the boys they laughed at him, and at pretty much everything else, and having as I said managed to keep pleasure with them, the faces that greeted Mr. Linden on Friday morning were unusually bright. Yet there were one or two exceptions. Sam Stoutenborough was a little shame faced in broad daylight, a little afraid of being laughed at, and Ruben Taylor, the head of the Blue Ribbons, was under a very unwanted cloud. It even seemed, as of the day, no thanks to pleasure, had done some work for Mr. Linden. Perhaps he was considering how long he should be within reach of such ceremonies, or perhaps how soon he could be willing to put himself out of reach. And when he came home in the afternoon, it was with the slow, meditative step which reminded Faith of his first week in Paddock Asset. You are tired now, Mr. Linden? She said with a smile, but the burden of her remark in her eyes, as she met him in the porch. Boys are an extraordinary commodity to deal with. He said, looking at her, but answering the smile too. I think you are bewitching all mine by degrees. Why cannot you confine your conjurations to the black cats of the neighborhood, like some of the real respectable Puritan witches? Faith blushed very much at the beginning of this speech, and laughed at the last. What have I done, Mr. Linden? There are no black cats in the neighborhood. Is that it? said Mr. Linden. I shall have to import a few. You give me a great deal of trouble, Miss Faith. I, Mr. Linden, I am very sorry. What have I done? I don't know, or at least but partially. There is Sam Stoutenborough making as much a dough over his lessons as of his wits had forsaken him, which perhaps they have. There is Ruben Taylor. I don't know what is the matter with Ruben. He said, his tone changing. But his last words to me were a very earnest and treaty, that I would persuade you to see him for five minutes. And when I wanted to know why he did not prefer his own request, all I could get was that he was not sure you would let him, which gave me very little clue to the sorrowful face he has worn all day. Once more, and this time with the keen tinge of pain, the blood rushed in a flood to Faith's cheek and brow, and for a second she put her hands to her face as if she would hide it. But she put them down and looked up frankly to Mr. Linden. I am sure Ruben Taylor has done no wrong, she said. You may tell him so, Mr. Linden. Wrong, he said, to you. And the tone was one Faith did not know. Then, with the manner that was like enough to the flinging of the little stone into Kildia River, he added. Yes, I will tell him, Miss Faith, I shall be down again directly, and then will you let me see that book? And he passed on upstairs. The book was on the table in the parlor when he came down, but Faith met him standing, with a little timid anxiousness, she said. I have done wrong now, Mr. Linden. I said I was sure Ruben had not done any, and you will not speak to him as if he had? Please don't speak to him at all, I will see him myself. The answering smile broke through some little cloud of feeling in spite of him. You need not fear, he said. I know Ruben Taylor, but you have got something else to think of just now. Then, placing a chair for her at the table, Mr. Linden took up the little book and began his work of examination. And perhaps it is not too much to say that even Dr. Harrison might have learned somewhat from the way it was carried on. A skillful and kind way of finding out what she did not know from what she did. Initiation and examining so carried on together that Faith found herself knowing where she thought she was ignorant. More still, perhaps, a kind of separate decision what she ought to learn and how, which saved her the trouble of acknowledging and confessing. And all as gently done, as if he had been dealing with some delicate winged creature, whose downy plumage would come off with a touch. Such was the threatened examination. She might flutter a little under his hand, but the softer wings were unhurt. Tell me first, Miss Faith, he said, turning over the leaves. What have you been doing here by yourself? I have been all through it, she said, fluttering, sure enough, yet as much with pleasure as with timidity, not at all with fear. Will you work these out for me? And he gave her half a dozen different tests on a bit of paper. She coloured, and he could see her hand tremble, but she was not long doing them, and she did them well, and gave them back without a word, and without raising her eyes. Well, said Mr. Linden, smiling a little as he looked at the paper. If it takes half an hour to hear Charles twelfth his lesson, and Johnny gives you but one quarter the trouble, and rob waters about twice as much as Johnny, how much time will you spend upon them all? It will be about an hour, wanting an eighth, she said, without raising her eyes, but with a bit of a smile too. I hear you and Johnny have arranged preliminaries, Miss Faith. Yes, said Faith, looking up brightly. He came to show me his ribbon, and to tell me last night, but I was almost sorry, Mr. Linden, that you should send him away from you, for Johnny's sake or my own, for his sake certainly. You need not speak so assuredly. There were two parties to the question, besides you, but I have him still, you know, in a way. What has been in hand since this little book was finished. Nothing except the philisoph, and, well, isn't that blank to be filled up? And Shakespeare, said Faith, casting down her eyes. I cannot let you confine yourself to the study of human nature, said Mr. Linden. That will never do. Charles twelfth and Shakespeare want ground to stand upon. Did you ever read anything of physical geography? She shook her head. I don't know what that is, Mr. Linden. Then I will have the pleasure of introducing you. Ordinary geography is but a shell without it, and if we accidentally go deeper down than the stratum of geography, I will try and bring you back safe. But Miss Faith, you have not done with this book yet, the subject matter of it. I want you to carry that further. Well, she said, smiling. I like it. I am ready. What comes next, Mr. Linden? Did you pay any attention to the algebra part of the examination yesterday? Yes, I believe so. I paid attention to it all. I didn't understand what some of it was about, but I believe I know what you mean. How should you like to work with letters and signs instead of figures? By the way, Miss Faith, your sevens are too much, like your nines, and if you drew a check for five hundred dollars with that five, you might find yourself paying out eight hundred dollars. She colored again, but bowed her head in a scent, quite ignorant in her interest in the subject, the extravagance of the supposition by which he illustrated it. You shall not say that again, Mr. Linden. Don't pledge yourself for me, he said, smiling. I am a lawless kind of person, as perhaps you have found out. But if I were to spend one minute well on the first day of the year, and each succeeding day add to my well-spent minutes so many more as the year was days old, how much of December would be well spent? But Faith could not tell. You see what is before you, Mr. Linden said. You must work that out, Miss Faith, in more ways than one. Well, tell me this, which is nearest to us now. My sister Pat, or the kind of Tatry, supposing her in Rome, and him in his own dominions. Faith colored again, a good deal, and with some sorrow. I am glad you asked me, she said. I want you should know it. But I don't know anything about that, Mr. Linden. I know a little, of course, she said, correcting herself. But I couldn't answer you. But why can't you understand, he said looking at her, that I am just some old-torn dog-eared book of questions, that you are looking into for the first time. I don't like to be made to feel like a brand new score book. Faith looked at him, and probably the words old-torn and dog-eared made a peculiar contrast. For, her eye flashed, and in spite of everything she laughed, her musical little laugh. That sounds reasonable, said Mr. Linden. I like to be laughed at. But, Miss Faith, just suppose, for a moment, that there were tears in your eyes. What could keep them from falling? Faith's eyes opened, and she took a little time to consider this proposition. If I were very determined, I think I could do it, she said. Suppose they got so far as the tip ends of your eyelashes, he said, with a little play off the lips. They must come down, I'm afraid, said Faith, looking and wondering. But why? Because my determination couldn't reach them there, I suppose, she said, in unmitigated wonder. There would be nothing to keep them up. Unphilosophic, he said gravely. I shall have to teach you both why your tears fall and why they don't. She smiled, as very willing to be taught, but with a face that looked as if it had had few to experiment upon either way. I will try and not tire you out, Mr. Linden said. But different things go unpleasantly together. Some I should like to have you study for me, when I am away, some directly with me, and... And what, sir? she said, with a gentle intonation of one to whose ear every word is pleasant. How much time have you in the course of the day that can and ought to be spent upon all these matters, without disturbing Shakespeare and his companions? I will make time, Mr. Linden, if I don't find it. I have a good deal, you won't tire me. You must not make time of strength. Will you write me a French exercise every day, among other things? Yes, Cindy, he said. I understand, apparently quite aware that Faith did not. I will try, said Faith, with a colour again that was not of French growth. Well, ain't you coming? said Cindy, who stood still as if she liked the prospect before her. Yes, but I can find my own way, said Mr. Linden, at which gentle hindi Cindy vanished and Faith sprang up. Teaching all day, she said, and no tea either. She was about to run off, then paused to say, That is all, Mr. Linden? Do you want to say anything more? It was not tea, Miss Faith. Ruben is at the door. Will you see him? Shall I bring him here? Or will you go there? I will go there, said Faith hurriedly, but Mr. Linden followed her. Ruben, he said, Miss Faith will hear you, and I am ready to answer for your word with my own. Then he went back into the sitting room and closed the door. But those words seemed to touch at least one sore spot in the boy's heart. He had to struggle with himself a moment before he could speak. Then it was low and humbling. Miss Faith, I don't know just what Phil has said about me. I can't find out, but whatever it is, there isn't one word of it true. I never said one word about you, Miss Faith, that I wouldn't say to you just the same. And Ruben looked as if he would have confronted the whole world on that point. I am quite sure of it, Ruben, Faith said very gently. I didn't need you to come and tell me so. He looked up at her, with both gladness and thanks in his eyes. I shouldn't have troubled you with my trouble at all, Miss Faith. Only he said you were displeased with me, and I was afraid it might be true. Who said I was displeased with you? An involuntary glance of Ruben's eyes toward the closed door seemed to say he did not want his words to go far. Dr. Harris said, Miss Faith, or at least I thought he said so. Did he speak to you? Yes, ma'am, and just pushed my word out of the way when I gave it. Said it might be well enough to tell people, but he didn't think you liked it, and so I got vexed. I'm so used to Mr. Linden, Ruben said, as of an excuse. Are you satisfied now, Ruben? Said Faith, giving him a good look of her eyes. A little qualified his look was. Perhaps because he had been too much troubled to have the traces go off at once, but there was no want of satisfaction in his. Oh yes, Miss Faith, I can't tell you how thankful I am to you. Good night, ma'am. Faith went back to the parlour, and then Mr. Linden, taking from his pocket a piece of broad, dark blue ribbon, and laying it lightly round Faith's shoulders, told her gravely that she was entitled to wear that for the rest of the evening. Faith matched the blue with red, and stood eyeing the ribbon which she had caught as it was falling from her shoulders, seeming for a minute as if she had as much as she could bear. Rallying, she looked up at Mr. Linden to get a little more light as to what he expected of her, or what he meant. But unless she could read a decided opinion that the two favours looked better together than separate, his face gave her no information. Then smiling, he said, I don't mean you must wear it, merely that you have the right. Faith gave another glance at his face, and then, without more ado, tied the blue ribbon round her waist, where, as she still wore the white dress of yesterday, it showed to very good advantage. She said nothing more, only as she was quitting the room, now an earnest to get tea, gave him an odd, pleasant, half-grateful, half-grave little smile. Too many things, however, had been at work to admit of her coming down into quietness immediately. The red left her no more than the blue for the rest of that evening. CHAPTER XVI. Saturday was but a half holiday to Mrs. Derek's little family, unless indeed they called their work play, which some of them did. It was spent thus, by Mrs. Derek in the kitchen, in the bedrooms, all over the house generally, with intervals at the oven door, by Mr. Linden in the sitting room, where faith came from time to time as she got a chance to begin some things with him, and learn to begin others by herself. The morning glatted by, very fast on such smooth wheels of action, and dinner came with the first natural philosophy yet unfinished. It was finished afterwards, however, and then Mr. Linden prepared himself to go forth on some expedition, of which he only said that it was a long one. I am going to petition to have tea half an hour later than usual tonight, Miss Faith, he said. Just half an hour later, Mr. Linden, she said, smiling, you shall have it when you like. I hope to be home by that time. If not, don't wait for me. You will find all the materials for your French exercise on my table. Which intimation quickened Faith's steps about the little she had beforehand to do, and also quickened to trifle the beating of her heart. It was not quiet, timidity and pleasure, or were throbbing together, and throbbing fast, when she turned her back upon the rest of the house and went to Mr. Linden's room. She would have a good, uninterrupted time this afternoon, at any rate. And the materials were there, as he had said, all the materials, from books, open and checked, to the delicate white paper and a pen which might be the very one Johnny Facts thought could write of itself. Faith stood and looked at them, and then sat down to work, if ever such a determination was taken by human mind. She had been a good while, absorbed in her business, when a knot came to the front door, which Faith did not hear. Cindy, however, had ears to spare, and presently informed Mrs. Derrick that a gentleman wished to see her. And then, in the sitting room, Mrs. Derrick found Dr. Harrison. You haven't forgotten to remember me, I hope, Mrs. Derrick. He said, as he took her hand. He looked very handsome, and very pleasant, as he stood there before her, and his winning ease of manner was enough to propitiate people of harder temper than the one he was just now dealing with. Now indeed, said Mrs. Derrick, I remember a great many things about you, as in the truth she did. But I dare say you've changed a good deal since then. You've been gone a great while, Dr. Harrison. Do you hope I've changed? Or are you afraid I have? Why, I don't think I said I did either, said Mrs. Derrick, smiling, for she felt as if Dr. Harrison was an old acquaintance. And I suppose it makes more difference to you than to me, anyway. Which words were not blunt in their intention, but according to the good lady's habit were a somewhat unconscious rendering of her thoughts. How's Miss Sophie after her holiday? I always think play is the hardest work that's done. I'm very sorry you found it so, so the doctor. You needn't be, said Mrs. Derrick, rocking complacently and making her knitting needles play in a style that certainly might be called work. I've got over it now, to be sure I was tired to death, but I like to be once in a while. The doctor laughed, as if in a way he'd found his match. And how's Miss Derrick, he asked, if she was tired too it was my fault. I guess that'll never be one of your faults, Dr. Harrison, said Mrs. Derrick. It would take any amount of folks to tire her out. She's just like a bird always. Oh, she's well, of course, or I shouldn't be sitting here. And so like a bird that she lives in a region above mortal view and only descends now and then. Yes, she does stay upstairs a good deal, said Mrs. Derrick, knitting away. Whenever she's got nothing to do down here, she's been down all morning. I can't shoot flying at this kind of game, said the doctor. I'll endeavor to come when the bird is perched next time. But in the meanwhile, Miss Derrick seemed pleased the other night with these Chinese illuminations, and Sophie took it into her head to make me the bearer of one. It has never yet illuminated anything, hoping that it will do that office for a heart with Miss Derrick. The heart will bear inspection, I believe, with or without the help of the lantern. And the doctor laid a little parcel on the table. Mrs. Derrick looked at the parcel, and at the doctor, and knit around her too. I'm sure she'll be very much obliged to Miss Harrison, she said, but I know I shan't remember all the message. I suppose that won't matter. Not in the least, said the doctor. The lantern is expected to throw light upon some things. May I venture to give Mrs. Derrick another word to remember, which must depend upon her kindness alone for its presentation and delivery? Mrs. Derrick stopped knitting and looked all attention. It isn't much to remember, so the doctor laughing gently. Sophie wishes very much to have Miss Derrick go with her tomorrow afternoon. She's going to drive to Deep River and wished me to do my best to procure Miss Derrick's goodwill, and yours for this pleasure of her company. Shall I hope that her wish is granted? Now, Mrs. Derrick, though not quick like some other people, had yet her own womanly instincts, and that more than one of them was a work now was plain enough. But either they confused or thwarted each other. For laying down her work, she said, I know she won't go, but I'll let her come and give her own answer, and left the room. For another of her woman's wits made her never send Cindy to call Faith from her studies. Therefore she went up and softly opening the door to the study room, walked in and shut it after her. Pretty child, she said, stroking Faith's hair. Are you very busy? Very mother, said Faith, looking up with a burning cheek and happy face, and pen pausing in her hand. What then? Wasn't it the clearest thing that I said that day at Nanticat? said Mrs. Derrick, quite forgetting Dr. Harrison in the picture before her. What, dear mother? Why, when I asked why you didn't get Mr. Lyndon to help you, how do you write, child? Which remark was meant admiringly? Mother, said Faith, but it can be done, she added with quiet resolution. I'm sure it never could by me in that style, said Mrs. Derrick. My fingers always think they're ironing or making pie crust. But, child, here's Dr. Harrison, come for nobody knows what, except that Sophie took it into her head to send her heart by him, as near as I can make out, and he wants you to go to Deep River tomorrow. I said you wouldn't, and then I thought maybe you'd better speak yourself. But if you don't like to, you shan't, I can deal with him. I don't want to see Dr. Harrison, mother. Tomorrow, said Faith. Yes, I will see him. She rose up, laid her pen delicately out of her fingers, went downstairs and into the sitting room, where she confronted the doctor. Faith was dressed as she had been at the party, with a single exception of the blue ribbon, instead of the red oak leaves, and the excitement of what she had been about was stirring both cheek and eye. Perhaps some other stir was there, too, for the flush was a little deeper than it had been upstairs. But she met the doctor very quietly. He thought to himself the lanterns had lent nothing with their illumination the other night. No, sir, she said, as he offered her a chair. I have something to do, but mother said, will the bird purge for no longer than this, said the doctor, turning with humorous appeal to Mrs. Derrick, who had followed her. My birds do pretty much as they like, Dr. Harrison, said Mrs. Derrick. They always did, even when I had them in cages. Then this bird is free now. I guess you'd better talk to her, said Mrs. Derrick, taking her seat and her knitting again. Mr. Derrick, said the doctor, obeying this direction with obeisance. You are free to command, and I can but obey. Will you go with Sophie tomorrow to Deep River? I am not altogether uninterested, as I hope to have the honour of driving you, but she sends her most earnest wish. Tomorrow is Sunday, Dr. Harrison. Well, isn't Sunday a good day? It isn't mine, said Faith gently. Not yours, said the doctor. You have promised it away, and we are so unfortunate. Her colour rose a little, but it was with an eye as steady as it was soft, she answered him. This day belongs to God, Dr. Harrison, and I have promised it and myself a way to him. The doctor looked astonished for a minute, and he gazed at her. But, my dear Mrs. Derrick, do you think there is anything contrary to the offices of religion in taking a pleasant drive, in a pleasant country, in pleasant weather, that is all? Faith smiled a little, gravely. It was very sweet and very grave. There are all the other days for that, she said. God has given us his work to be done on his day, Dr. Harrison, and there is so much of it to do that I never find the day long enough. You were right, he said. You are quite right. You are a great deal better than I am. I am sorry I asked you, and yet I am glad. Then, Mrs. Derrick, will you forgive me, and will you some other day show us that you forgive me, and be so good as to go with us? But Faith's interest in the subject was gone. I am very busy, sir, she said. I have work to do that I do not wish to put off. Can't you go with us, at all? Will we wait and make it any day? Do not wait, said Faith. I could go, but I could not go with pleasure, Dr. Harrison. I have not the time to spare for that, nor for more now, please excuse me, and she went. Mrs. Derrick, said the doctor musingly, this is a winged creature, I believe, but it is not a bird, at which Mrs. Derrick looked at him with a mingled satisfaction he had got his answer, and curiosity to know what he thought of it. For the further she felt herself from her child's high stand, the more presuming did she think it any one to try to bring her down from it. If I thought, as I came here, that I walked on a higher level than the generality of mankind, as perhaps in the vanity of my heart I did, I feel well put down on the ground now, pursued the doctor. But Mrs. Derrick, when may I hope to see this winged thing of yours again? It must be confessed that Mrs. Derrick did not admire her this speech. A winged thing, as she justly thought, was a somewhat indefinite term, and might mean a flying grasshopper as well as a canary bird. Therefore it was with some quickness that she replied, What sort of winged creature are you talking of, doctor? Nothing worse than a heavenly one, madame. But angel or cherub are such worn out terms that I avoided them. He was standing yet where faith left him, looking down gravely, speaking half lightly to her mother. I don't know who will see her when she is an angel, said Mrs. Derrick, with a little flesh coming over her eyes. But she wouldn't thank you for calling her one now, she added presently, with her usual classic manner. Won't you sit down again, doctor? May I ask, said he, eyeing her, somewhat intent upon the answer, why she wouldn't thank me for calling her one now, by which I understand that it would incur her displeasure. Why, why would she, said Mrs. Derrick, who, having dropped a stitch, was picking it up with an intent and sequel to the doctor's. True, said the doctor in his usual manner. Angels don't thank mortals for looking at them. But Mrs. Derrick, when may such a poor mortal as I stand the chance of seeing this particular one again? Mrs. Derrick laid down her work. Well, you have changed, she said. There's no doubt of that. I don't recollect that you used to care so much about seeing her when you were here before. If I don't forget, you set your dog on her cat. And as to when you'll see her again, I'm sure I can't tell, doctor. She's a busy child, and folks out of the house have to do without seeing her till she finds time to see them. Where at, Mrs. Derrick smiled upon Dr. Harrison with the happy consciousness that she was one of the folks in the house. The doctor stood smiling at her with a half-humorous, quite pleasant expression of face. Set my dog on her cat, he exclaimed. That is why she would be angry at me for calling her a cherub, tantena animis celebista sire. The doctor sat down. What shall I do, he said. Advise me, Mrs. Derrick. I know what I should have done if I got ahold of you, said Mrs. Derrick. I thought I never would speak to you again. But you see, I've got over it. I'm not sure of it, so the doctor meditatedly. Folks out of the house, well, it strikes me I've been in to little purpose this afternoon. Heroes again. Where is Mr. Linden? Is he out or in this fine day? He's out this afternoon, said Mrs. Derrick. I was thinking to ask you if you wanted to see him, and then I knew it was of no use. Yes, I should like to see him, said the doctor. But as he is mortal like myself, I suppose I can find him another time by use of proper precautions. And Dr. Harrison took his departure. Mrs. Derrick, on her part, went upstairs again, and opening the door merely peeped in this time. What is it, mother? Are you busy yet, child? Not quite through. I thought, said Mrs. Derrick, stepping softly into the room, that we go down to the shore this afternoon and maybe dig up some clams. I don't know, but it's too late for that. We might ride down and see. You're tired, pretty child, and other people won't like that a bit more than I do. I'd like to go, mother. I'm almost done, and I'm not tired. Faith said with happy eyes. There is time, I guess, for Mr. Linden don't want tea as early as usual. I'll come soon. Mrs. Derrick withdrew softly, and again Faith was entirely lost in her business. But she had nearly done now. The work was presently finished, the books put up in order, and the papers with the exercise on top. And Faith stood a moment looking down at it. Not satisfied, but too humble to have any false shame, too resolute to doubt of being satisfied and of satisfying someone else by and by. And the intellectual part of her exercise, she thought, and with modest reason, would satisfy him now. Then she went down to her mother, quite ready for the beach, or for anything else. It was one of those very warm, October days, which unlearned people call Indian summer. The foreground landscape yellow was stubble fields and seared forest, the distance blue with haze. So soft and still, that the faint murmur of the wheels as they rolled along the sandy road sounded as if at a distance, and the twittering birds alone set off the silence. Now and then came a farm wagon loaded with glowing corn. Then the field where the bereaved pumpkins lay among the burnados of corn stalks. Sportsmen passed with their guns, schoolboys with their nutbags, and many were the greetings Faith received. For since that day at Nantikut, every boy thought he had a right to take off his hat to her. From the midst of his cornfield, Mr. Simlins gave them a wave of his hand. From the midst of its blue waters, the sound sent a fresh welcome. I declare, child, said Mrs. Derrick as they neared the shore. It's real pleasant. The tides out, mother, said Faith, who had the spirit of action upon her today. We can get some clams now, for quick. I don't know what you're learning to be spry among other things, said her mother, looking at her. I thought you were as spry as you could be before. What haven't you done today, child? Faith laughed a little, and then jumping out of the wagon and helping her mother down was certainly spry in getting ready for the clam digging. Her white dress had been changed for a common one, and that was carefully pinned up, and a great kitchen apron was put on to cover all but the edges of the skirts as white as the white dress, and with shoes and stockings off, basket and hoe in hand, she stood ready almost before her mother had accomplished fastening up old crab to her satisfaction. Mrs. Derrick on her part prepared herself as carefully for work, though not quite so evidently for play, and the two went down to the flats. The tide was far out, even the usual strips of water were narrow and far apart. Wherever they could, the little shellfish scrambled about and fought their miniature battles in one inch water, but at the edge of the tall shoregrass there was no water at all, unless in the mud, and the shellfish waited by hundreds for the tide. Here was the scene of action for the two ladies, walking dantily over the warm mud with their bare feet, which however white and twinkling at first were soon obliged to yield the circumstances. Disturbing the little shellfish who in turn disturbed them, by veritilitating little attacks upon the aforesaid feet, Mrs. Derrick and Faith merged up to the edge of the grass, and there sought for clam holes. The war went on after this fashion. A clam hole being found, the hoe struck far down into the mud to unearth the inhabitant, which the clam presenting spit up into the intruder's face. But the intruder, proof against such small fire, repeated the strokes, and the clam was soon brought to light and tumbled ignominiously into the basket, to be followed every second or two by another of its companions, for the clam holes were many. The basket was soon full, but not before the cool ripple of the tide had passed the mussel rocks and was fast to coming inshore. Well I do think plays hard work, said Mrs. Derrick, bringing herself once more in an erect position. I told Dr. Harrison so this morning, how you and Mr. Linden stand it, Faith, I don't know. What mother, said Faith, making a dissent upon another promising clam shell, but Mrs. Derrick always preferred to go on with her remarks. It's good he's doing it for his own sake, I guess, she said. He's done nothing but work ever since he came to Paracocet. Doing what, mother, said Faith, what are you talking of? Why, I'm talking of you, child, you and Mr. Linden. One of you played all the morning and the other's going to play all the afternoon. But I think you've done enough, Faith. It won't do to get sick so long as you've got nobody but Dr. Harrison to depend on. I don't believe he's much of a doctor. Played all the morning, said Faith, taking up her basket. It was better than played to me. I wish I could do something for him, mother. Very gravely, and even a little sorrowfully, the last words were said. Why, yes, said Mrs. Derrick stoutly. Never tell me it's anything but play to teach you, child. He didn't look as if it was, neither. I thought he got his pay as he went along. Faith knew what he had looked so. But that was not Faith. It was Mr. Linden in her account. Dr. Harrison ought to be a good doctor of mother, she remarked, leaving the subject. He's had chance enough. La, child, said Mrs. Derrick, untying her apron. Chance don't prove anything. A man may just have had a good chance to kill as he has to cure, by which I don't mean that he has, for I don't know. The tide is coming in, mother. We came just to the very point of the time. How pretty it is, said Faith, standing in the blue mud with her bare feet and the basket of clams in her hand, but standing still to look off at the flats and the dark water and the hazy opposite shore, all with the sunny stillness and the soft enveloping haze of October lying lovingly upon them. Faith thought of the glory again, and watched to see how water and shore and flats and sky were all touched with it. One or two sails in the sound could not get on. They lay still in the haze like everything else, and the glory was on them too. She thought so. It seemed to touch everything, and another glory touched everything. The glory of truth Faith had only for a little while come to know. She recognized it. There was light from heaven in more senses than one. The glow of joy and hope unknown while before, the softening veil of mind-piece over whatever might be harsh or sharp in actual reality. She did not run out all the parallel, but she felt it, and stood looking with full eyes, not full of tears, but of everything pleasant beside. Then came the drive home, with the air darkening every minute, but not withstanding this Mrs. Derrick stopped by the way. Faith, she said, hold the rainstile, I won't be a second, but I've got something to see to in here, and Faith was once more left to her meditations. Not for long, for as she sat gazing over old crab's ears, she was aware of someone standing by the wagon. It was Squire Deacon. I shall commence to think I'm a lucky man after all, said the Squire. I was coming down to see you, Miss Faith, and couldn't just resolve my mind to it, neither. I wanted to pay a parting visit. Where are you? Are you going away, Squire Deacon? Why, yes, said the Squire, looking down at his gun, for he had been shooting. I have had considerable thoughts of taking to a turn down to York. Silly says she don't think it's worth my while, but I guess she don't know much more in her own concerns. Patakasit's a good deal come round this season, he added, without specifying which way. Do you mean that you intend to forsake Patakasit entirely? said Faith, noticing the comfortable supply of ducks in the Squire's bag. Well, I just can't say. I'm not free to certify, said the Squire. I said I thought it was worth my while to go, and so I do. I should like to know from your lips, Miss Faith, whether you'll make it worth my while to come back. Faith was very glad it was so dark. I don't see how I can touch that question either way, sir. She said gently and with not a little difficulty. Wherever you are, I hope you'll be very happy. And very good, Squire Deacon. I should like something a little better grown than that, ma'am, said the Squire, striking his gun on the ground. I can't tell whether that's wheat or oats. It's likely my meaning's plain enough. Faith was dumb for a minute. I believe I understood you, sir, she said in a low voice. I meant to answer you. Well, what's to hinder you're doing it, then, said Squire Deacon. I thought I had done it, said Faith. I have nothing to do with the question of your coming or going anywhere, and can't have, except to wish you well, which I do heartily. That's your ultimate, is it, Miss Faith? No, sir, said Faith, conquering the beating of her heart. Squire Deacon, I want to see you, in heaven. And she stretched out to him her little hand, frankly, over the side of the wagon. Squire Deacon took it for a moment, then dropped it as if it burnt his fingers. And then, with a voice in which, whether sorrow or anger prevailed, Faith could not tell, he said, Well, I don't blame you. Never did and never shall. Cunning's been too much for me this time. And he took up his gun and showed off, just as Mrs. Derek opened the house door, and came out to take her place in the wagon again. Dear mother, said Faith, why didn't you come sooner? Why, I couldn't child, said Mrs. Derek. That woman will always tell one every pain and ache she's had since the year one. What's the matter? Why didn't you tie a crab and come in if you were lonesome? Faith was silent. What's the matter, repeated her mother? Have you been getting sick after all I said to you? Squire Deacon has been here talking to me, Faith said, in a low tone. Well, then you had company, I'm sure. What did you talk about? Come, crab, get on, sir. He says he is going away from Patec Crossett, and he lays it to me, mother. She said, after some hesitancy again. What has he laid it to you for, said Mrs. Derek? I don't believe he's going away to begin with. He wanted me to say something to bring him back again, said Faith, lower yet. Oh, is that all, said Mrs. Derek, compositely. I knew that gun was loaded long ago. Well, what's the harm if he did? It's not dangerous. I'm sorry, said Faith, but mother do make crab get on. It's time. It's not late, said Mrs. Derek, and don't you fret about Sam Deacon, child. He always was a little goose, till he got to be a big one. But you needn't think he'll ever shoot himself for love of you. He loves himself better than that. And at this point, crab, roused by the thought of his own supper, set off a good round trot which soon brought them home. There was nobody there, however, not even Cindy, so the need of haste did not seem to have been urgent. Faith soon had the kitchen fire in order, and her clams in the pot, and was, for the next half hour, thoroughly busy with them. Then she made herself ready for tea, and the mother and daughter sat, together by the lamp, the one with her knitting, the other with her book. But the extra half hour was already past. Faith, said Mrs. Derek, at last. Why wouldn't Mr. Linden do the other thing you asked him to? Faith looked up suddenly from her book, as if not understanding the question. Then her head and her voice drooped together. I haven't asked him yet, mother. I didn't know, but eat some objection, said Mrs. Derek. Well, I wish he'd come. I want my supper. I'm as tired as tired can be, paddling around there in the mud. How did you like your lantern, child? She said, as the clock struck half past seven. Faith raised her head, and listened first to the clock, and for any sound that might be stirring in the house. Then answered, I haven't looked at it, mother. What do you think of having supper? Before Mr. Linden comes, mother. Well, if you like it, I'll get yours. The clam's already. I don't care, said her mother. I'm more sleepy than hungry. I'll just lie down here in the sofa. Faith, and you can wake me up when you hear him. And disregarding the cooked clams in the kitchen, Mrs. Derek went to sleep, and dug them all over again. The clock ticked on, softly, steadily, and the half hour to the hour, and from the hour to the half. Out of the doors there was nothing stirring, unless the owl stirred between his unmusical notes, or Mr. Skip's dog did something but howl. Hardly a wagon passed, hardly a breath moved the leaves. Cindy on her part was lost in the fascination of some neighbouring kitchen. And Faith at first had been lost in her study, but the sounding of it a clock struck on more than the air, and she found, though she tried, she could not shut herself up in her book any more. Mrs. Derek slept profoundly, her breathing only made the house seem more still. Faith went to the window to look, and then, for freer breath and vision, went to the door. It was not moonlight, only the light of the stars was abroad, and that still further softened by the haze or mistiness of the air which made it thicker still. Faith could see little, and could hear nothing, though eyes and ears tried well to penetrate the still darkness of the road up and down. It was too chill to stay on the porch, now with this mist in the air, and reluctantly she came back to the sitting room. Her mother is sleeping on the sofa, her open study book under the lamp, the Chinese lantern in its packing paper. Faith had no wish to open it now. There was no reason to fear anything that she knew. Neither was she afraid, but neither could she rest. Half past eight struck. She went to the window again, and very gravely sat down by it. She had sat there but a few minutes when there came a rush of steps into the porch, and Cindy burst into the little sitting room, almost two out of breath to speak. Here's a proclamation, she said. Mr. Linden's been shot at dreadful, and Gemwaters was down to fetch Dr. Harrison. I'm free to confess they say he ain't dead yet. With which pleasing announcement, Cindy rushed off again, out of the room and out of the house, being seized with a sudden fear that Gemwaters would forestall her in spreading the news. The noise had awakened Mrs. Derrick, and she sat looking at Faith as if she was first in her thoughts. Faith stood before her with a colourless face, but perfectly quiet, though at first she looked at her mother without speaking. Come here, pretty child, said her mother, and sit down by me. Mother, said Faith, but she would not have known her own voice. Something has happened. But the way Mrs. Derrick's arms came around her, said that she too had heard. Where can he be, mother? said Faith gently, disengaging herself. I don't know, child. Faith was already at the door. Faith, her mother said, following her with a quick step, stop, child. Faith put back a hand as if to stop her. She was listening. There was not a sound. Faith went down to the steps, and stood at the gate. Not a sound still, and her mother said softly, Faith, you must not go out. She put one hand on her mother's arm, and clasping it stood without stirring, her other hand on the gate. In mingled sorrow, and fear her mother stood, not knowing well what to do or say, in that emergency where women can only endure, where she is powerless but to suffer, Faith stood without moving head or hand. And so they remained. They knew not how long, until Cindy once more presented herself and told her story more at length. You see, I was down to Miss Summers, and so was Dr. Harrison, and Jem Waters come there for him, and Jem, he makes up to Miss Summers as Jenny, and tonight he wouldn't hardly speak to her, wouldn't know how to tell what he'd come for. So then Jenny got mad and she went and listened, and she said that Jem wanted to catch up Dr. Harrison and run off with him, and the doctor he wanted his oars. I don't know how they settled it, but I'm free to confess I'm sleepy. And Cindy once more disappeared, and the stillness settled down overall. On that eventful evening Mr. Simlins had a husking bee, and in his barn were met a fair representation of the Patecquasset men and boys, especially boys, and with busy hands and tongues the work went on. Mr. Simlins himself among the busiest. But in the midst of work and merriment, though the fair stillness of the night was unheeded, the sudden interruption which came brought everyone to his feet. It was a loud shriek from the house, a woman's shriek. Hold on, said Mr. Simlins. You all go ahead, and I'll go quiet the distractions. I suppose Mrs. Hummons has seen another rat in the dairy. No, thank ye, I like to kill my own rats myself, and then I know they ere killed. So, letting nobody follow him, Mr. Simlins left the barn and went over to the house. In the kitchen he found the full array of female servants, of his own house and the neighbors, one of whom hiding her face was rocking back and forth with the most incoherent exclamations, while all the rest, standing by in various attitudes, seemed to have got an extra pair of eyes apiece for the express purpose of looking on. Well, said Mr. Simlins, where is it? I've got my stick ready. Hey, did bid anybody, has he? Or has somebody got my silver spoons? What's to pay? Now, silver spoons there were none in Mr. Simlins' economy, and this was a proverbial expression well known in the household. Oh, Mr. Simlins, Mr. Simlins, cried the hysterical one with a shutter, there's a murdered man at the front door, and I did shut it, but he might come round this way. You be hanged, and shut up, was Mr. Simlins remark and answer to this statement, and flinging down his stick on the kitchen floor with a rattle, he strode to the front door and opened it, having had the precaution to take a candle with him. There was certainly a figure there, not standing, but sitting on the bench in an attitude that spoke of faintness, and of all the men in Padaquasset Mr. Simlins was perhaps most surprised to see that it was Mr. Linden, a white handkerchief ineffectually bound round his arm, but served to show why he had tried to secure it there. Mr. Simlins surveyed it all with his candle in about three seconds, and then said hoarsely, what's this? Can you speak to me? But the power for that was gone, though a parting of the lips spoke the intent. Mr. Simlins sat down the candle and went back to the kitchen. Get some brandy, you fools, he said. He's a friend of mine, got faint for want of his supper. Been too long out shooting. Fetch a glass of water here, too. Jenny Loudon's. You go tell Jem Walters that your plaguey black heifer has got it out of the yard. You send him to me, and if you spoil the frolic with your story I'll have nothing more to do with you. I give you my word. Mr. Simlins was evade. He himself went back with the water and the brandy, which he tenderly applied to Mr. Linden's forehead and lips, and seeing the handkerchief's ineffectual disposition had taken it off and bound it on tight by the time Jem Walters, one of his farm-hands, had reached the porch. The two then taking the sufferer in their arms carried him into the house and into Mr. Simlins' room, which was on the first floor, where they laid him on the bed. Jem Walters was then dispatched for Dr. Harrison, with orders to hold his tongue and not say what he was sent for. And Jem Walters, the swiftest runner in Patequacet, set off and ran every step of the way till the doctor was found. The cold applications, the resting posture, seemed to do their work, and Mr. Simlins was rewarded with a smile from both eyes and lips. He did not speak again, however, till he had seen a spoonful of brandy enter the lips. Then, with a grave concern that did not seem like Mr. Simlins, he said in a subdued tone. How do you find yourself? Can you speak now? Not much, Mr. Linden answered with some effort. I find myself in very kind hands. Are you hurt anywhere else? Somewhat. The shot scattered, I think. There was a smothered execration, and then it was a very kind hand that renewed the touch of cold water to his forehead, though a big, brown and rough one. I said for the doctor, and now I'll get you a nurse. You keep quiet till you can do something else. Mr. Simlins gently went forward, and in a minute after was in the midst of his husking-party in the barn. Ruben Taylor, said the farmer, you don't mind taking a run, do you? Wouldn't you just as leaves help me catch that black heifer before she gets to pick what? Ruben started up, and signified his ability to catch anything whatever. He was not alone, for half a dozen others volunteered to be equally ready. You keep where you be, said the farmer, with a wave of his hand to the half-dozen. I don't let everybody chase that heifer. You got to chase her by the head and not by the foot. I tell you. Ruben, you come along. And getting him well outside of the barn and halfway towards the house, Mr. Simlins said in a very low growl indeed, Mr. Linden's here. He's been hurt somehow, in his arm, and he's kind of faint. I want you to stay by him till the doctor comes, and then let me know. If I don't keep in the barn they'll raise plute, or they'll come in, and I'd his leaves they'd do one as tether. By this time Mr. Simlins had reached the door of his room and ushered Ruben in. He heard, and long remembered, this mothered cry which seemed to come no further than Ruben's lips as he stepped within the door. But after that the boy might have been made of iron for his strength and steadiness. He walked up to the bedside and knelt beside it. With a look which again Mr. Simlins could not soon forget. But his face was quite calm, except in the first moment when Mr. Linden looked at him. The farmer was a man of iron, too, yet his voice was low and changed from its usual want when he spoke. It's only the loss of blood, I guess, he said. He'll come along. You give him brandy and water, Ruben, if he wants it, and call me when Dr. Harrison comes. Can I do anything else? The last words were gently, even tenderly, addressed to the sufferer. No, Mr. Linden said, with that same pleasant look of the eyes. I think there's not much to the matter, except what you said. Mr. Simlins stalked off, and was rather more grim than usual in the barn. The Huskers had returned to their mariment, and the slight sound of wheels on the road from time to time, of course, attracted no attention. After one of these signals, however, gem waters appeared at the front door. Mr. Simlins, there's a gentleman wants to see you. I'll take your place. Very few strides did Mr. Simlins make between the barn and the house, and slight was his stay of greeting to Dr. Harrison. He's in here, he said, leading the way. Ruben was just as Mr. Simlins had left him. It seemed as if he had not once taken his eyes from the calm face before him, for very calm it was, reposeful, with not a line disturbed except where a slight contraction of the brow told of some physical discomfort. But he was not asleep, for he looked at them the moment they entered, and Ruben rose then, and stood leaning against the bed-post. I'm sorry to see you so, said the doctor. What's the matter, and where? A little smile, a glance towards the bandaged arm, seemed to say there was nothing very bad, but that what there was it would be easier for him to have the doctor find out for himself. No further did the doctor ask, but proceeded to work. And it appeared soon that Dr. Harrison at play and Dr. Harrison at work were two people, yet the same. The doctor did not indeed play at his work, yet the work was done with the same skillful ease that he brought to his play, an ignorant child could see as much. And Mr. Simlins, jealously looking on, felt very soon at ease as to the doctor's part in the scene before him. Dr. Harrison knew his business and knew it well. Mr. Linden's coat was removed, in the course of which operation a keen glance of the doctor's eye over at Ruben showed that he recognized him. But then he attended to nothing but his patient. He found that a number of duck-shot had been lodged in Mr. Linden's side and arm, the letter of which was somewhat lacerated, and this was the principal wound. The others were slight, the shot having taken a slanting direction and so rather grazed than penetrated. Dr. Harrison, with care and skill, went on to extract the shot and dress the wounds, which he did after the happy and simple regiment of modern discoveries, and ordered certain restoratives which he judged his patient needed. He did not speak except on business till he had seen these doing their work, and Mr. Linden able to reply to him. And then his first words were to the farmer, who, not asking a question, had stood by as silent and watchful as Ruben himself, nearly as grave. There's nothing the matter with him, Mr. Simlins, he said. He'll be able to shoot you in a day or two, if he has a mind. What have you been doing to him? Me. I've been acting the part of the good Syrian to him, growled Mr. Simlins. Only I always thought before the oil and wine went on the outside instead of on the inside. I daresay, so the doctor lightly, probably not understanding the illusion. And then he seated himself on the side of the bed, looking down at his patient very much in his usual manner. You'll have made yourself the hero of Patakwaset, Linden, he said. There won't another fellow stand a chance to be looked at for a month to come, from here to Guilipique. You ought to be indicted for breach of the public peace. Don't try it, said Mr. Linden. I should doubtless prevail with the jury, too. Ha! said the doctor, with another glance over at Rubin. Now, how did this come about? Quite suddenly, as I was walking home. Where were you? About a mile from here, in the open road. Who was fool enough to be shooting ducks in the open road and mistake you for a specimen, who are not at all the sort of man I should ever think of making game of? I tried hard to find out who it was, said Mr. Linden. But he was a better runner than I, or else my strength gave out. Why, how did the thing happen, said the doctor? Run! You don't suppose the fellow meant to hit you. He meant to run, said Mr. Linden. The doctor looked at Mr. Simlens, with a serial comical expression. Worse than worse, said he. It is a full-grown, regular-built adventure, and this is a hero from head to foot. Which way did the fellow run, said Mr. Simlens, with a growl that was ominous? Straight ahead, till he got into the woods, said Mr. Linden, smiling at his host. But he probably turned there, Mr. Simlens. I'll have him, said Mr. Simlens. I'll follow his tracks. If they lead me to the two poles of the axel-tree, you tell me where you see him, and I'll set runners on, that won't give out neither. They'll be as likely to run against each other as any way, in this mist tonight, said the doctor. You'd better leave all that till morning. I'll see you again to-morrow, he said, holding out his hand to Mr. Linden. I suppose they don't know what has become of you at Mrs. Derricks. I will stop there as I go home and make myself as famous as I can. Though the first bearer of a Malcolm News does not recommend himself to favour, yet if they have heard anything, on the whole they will thank me. I'll take my risk. I am a little inclined to ride down with you, said Mr. Linden. Folly, said the doctor. Mr. Simlens is acting a good part by you, he says. Which I presume is true, though I did not understand his terms. But I have no doubt he'll prove himself good for a day or two's bored and lodging. I wish I had had the pleasure of finding you at my own door, instead of his having it. The question is whether I shall be good for a day or two. I have no doubt of Mr. Simlens. Does that mean you are going to disobey me? You grudge me that little bit of famousness? I shall hear the orders before I disobey. The doctor looked at him a minute. Linden, said he. You are alarmingly well. But you must remain in quarters for another night or two. It would be dangerous to let you go. I can't allow it. Good night. Either the stimulus of the doctor's presence had been strong, or the effort to appear well had been fatiguing, and Dr. Harrison would have pronounced another verdict had he seen his patient ten minutes later. When Mr. Simlens came back into the room, Mr. Linden looked pale and exhausted. He roused himself, however, at once. Mr. Simlens, he said, will you drive me to Patakweset tonight? You ain't it going to do that, so the farmer. That was my intention. Why not? You ain't fit for it. No ways. Can't you stop here one night to be peaceable? Yes, both, said his guest, smiling. But if I do not go, I must send, he added, after a minute's silence, during which perhaps some feeling of weakness came and aided the doctor's orders. And I do not think it would hurt me to go. Send, said Mr. Simlens. There's lots to send. Here's Ruben, and Sam Stoutenberg. The boys ain't gone yet, and here's me. Who do you want to send to? I want to send four to earth your things out of my room. Ruben can go, and Sam may sit here with me, if you will sleep any better for it, Mr. Simlens. That is what you must do, he said, with a look of warm interest and kindness. Sleep, growl, Mr. Simlens. It's about all I'm good for, which was not, at all, Mr. Simlens' abstract judgment concerning himself, purely comparative, on the present occasion. Well, you tell Ruben what you want him to do, and he can take the brown mare. Gem will have her ready, and I'll send Sam to you. And after I get rid of all creation, I'll come myself. You'd think all creation was just made, and the chips about. After which, setting forth of the state of his affairs, Mr. Simlens went forth. I guess, sir, said Gem Waters, when he had done his task with the mare. I guess I'd as good sleep in the front porch tonight, because if there'll be one here there'll be forty. What'll the forty do? Knock the house down, sir, if there's nobody there to stop them. Bless you, sir. I'll pet a quass that'll come to hear how Mr. Linden is a four day. There won't one of them wait two minutes after he hears the tale. It's all about by this time. I made one gal mad by not telling her, and I guess she's likely made it up for herself and other folks by now. CHAPTER XVIII Dr. Harrison did not find anybody at Mrs. Derrick's gate. The two, mother and daughter, had stood there even after Cindy had come in with her report, unconscious or unregardful, of the chill, thick mist which enveloped everything, and fell with steady, heavy fall upon the bright hair of one and the smooth cap of the other. They had not spoken to each other all that while, unless an unfinished word or two of Mrs. Derrick's reached ears that did not heed them. It was Faith herself who first moved, perhaps reminded by the increasing dullness that her mother was feeling it too. She took her hand from the gate, and passing the other round Mrs. Derrick, led her into the house and into the sitting room and to a chair, and then went for wood and kindling and built up a fire. She went to the kitchen next, that fire was out too, and that fire Faith also rebuilt, and coaxed till blaze was going up round the cold tea kettle. Cindy sat with her head on her arms on the kitchen table, fast asleep. Faith did not wake her. In half an hour she brought into the sitting room a tray with tea-maid and clams warmed, and things that should accompany the one tea-cup and saucer, and mutely set it before her mother. She did not then ask her to eat, except by this pantomime, and she herself immediately went again to stand in the porch, but again her mother followed. Child, she said, you mustn't stand here, you'll be sick next. You must come right in and drink some hot tea. Faith's quick answer was to put her hand upon her mother's lips. Her mother went on softly and steadily, in spite of that slight obstruction. Yet not in spite of it, for her voice was very low. I know who'd say you ought to, and she paused a little as if to let her words have their full effect. Then, with a carious sort of instinct, she herself hardly perceived, Mrs. Derrick added. Dr. Harrelson, and be sure to come. And you mustn't be standing here then. For the first time Faith's head drooped, and she turned, but it was to pass her mother and go upstairs, laying her hand for an instant as she went, with a kind of caressing touch on her mother's arm. Then she was gone. Mrs. Derrick stood where Faith had left her, the still mist before her out of doors, the still house behind her. And there she stood until her ear caught the distant smooth roll of wheels. Softly it came, nearing her every minute, till Mrs. Somers' little wagon stopped at the gate, and Dr. Harrelson jumped down and came towards her. Another had seen him, for Mrs. Derrick knew that a light step had come swiftly downstairs, but with her it went she knew not. The doctor spoke cheerily. Nasty thick evening. My dear Mrs. Derrick, do you stand at the door to show your hospitality in welcoming your friends, all night? It is late, said Mrs. Derrick. The doctor's words were too slippery for her to get hold of. She waited for him to speak again. If it is late, my dear madam, why are you here? I don't want you to see me ever for anything but pleasure. Is it so late I mustn't come in? Mrs. Derrick stepped back into the hall, then stopped and turned. I was there to watch, Dr. Harrelson. What have you got to tell me? One story has come already. Has it? Then I can tell you but half a one. I was thinking to make my fortune. Mr. Linden is spending the night at a friend's house, my dear Mrs. Derrick, that is all. He is as well as you are, though perhaps just at this minute not quite as strong as I am. But I'm afraid he can boast more than that in another few days. That Mrs. Derrick felt at once relieved, doubtful, unsatisfied, was clear. But the relief, slight as it was, brought back her hospitality. She led the way into the parlour. What has been the matter? She said. What is the matter? I don't know, said the doctor. He fell in with somebody carrying a gun, which was very likely to happen, seeing I have met a great many myself. But I never fell out with any of them yet. Perhaps my time will come. This fellow, however, let off his gun in the wrong place, and some sort of shot hit Mr. Linden in the arm. And before he could get to Mr. Simlins, where I found him, he was a little faint. So I commanded him to stay where he was till morning. That's all. He is perfectly well, I give you my word. I came now on purpose to relieve you from anxiety. He wanted to come down with me, but I wouldn't let him. Why didn't you let him? said Mrs. Derrick. Well, I came near letting him, said the doctor, for I didn't know at one time that I could help it. It wouldn't have hurt him seriously, but he'll see you with more pleasure tomorrow. I can't think how you made out to hinder him at all, said Mrs. Derrick, looking a little puzzled. But I much obliged to you, doctor, for coming. Is he such a difficult person to deal with? said the doctor, glancing at different doors of the room. I never tried, said Mrs. Derrick, with very simple truth. I must try, some time, said the doctor abstractly. I like to deal with difficult people. But I remember you remarked it was late, and he started up and was about to take his leave when his purpose met with an interruption. For the swift trot of a horse upon the road came to as quick a pause at Mrs. Derrick's gate, and Reuben Taylor came up the steps and in at the front door before Dr. Harrison had finished his compliments. I see, said the doctor. You don't keep open doors for nothing, Mrs. Derrick. Here's another. You're not riding after me, my friend, are you? You don't let the grass grow. No, sir, said Reuben. Good evening, Mrs. Derrick. May I go up to Mr. Linden's room? How is he now, Reuben? said Mrs. Derrick. Oh, yes. You can go up, of course. Thank you, ma'am. He said he was more comfortable when I came away. And with an almost imperceptible glance round the room he was in, Reuben turned and bounded lightly up the staircase. But all was dark there and in Mr. Linden's room. Reuben could not execute his commission so, and was turning to come downstairs again when he encountered, in the dim entryway, a right figure. How is Mr. Linden, Reuben? said a voice which he knew, though it was in a very low key. Miss Faith, Reuben said with a little start. Oh, I am so glad to find you. Then repeated gravely his former answer. He said he was much more comfortable when I came away, ma'am. Is he much hurt? Reuben hesitated. I don't rightly know, Miss Faith. He said, so though, that she could scarcely hear the words. He says he's not, and Dr. Harrison says not. I suppose I am easily frightened. What makes you frightened, then, she said quickly. I was frightened, Reuben said, drying a long breath, and with a sort of awe-stricken voice, as if the fright was upon him yet. And it takes a while to get over it. Maybe that's all. He wrote that, Miss Faith, and Reuben laid a tiny folded paper in her hand. And may I have a light, ma'am, to get some things from his room? He spoke eagerly now, as if he grudged the moments. Faith directed him to the kitchen, and when Reuben came up, followed him into the room and stood waiting while he sought what he wanted. Then suddenly remembered that her paper might contain a request for something else, and bent over the candle to read it. It contained more than one. Miss Faith, it said, if any of my scholars are anxious about me, tell them, from me, that there is no cause, but them take rest, without waiting for it. I'm sorry that exercise must wait, but I shall hope to see two on Monday, J-E-L. Faith's head was bent a long while over the candle. Have you got what you wanted, Reuben? She asked at last. Reuben had heard her voice often, but he had never heard it like that, nor anyone else. What had passed through it, clearing it so, it was like the chiming of silver bells. He came at her word, bag in hand, and, with the freedom a mutual sorrow gives, held out his other hand to her. Then he ran quickly and softly down the stairs. Hello, sir, said the doctor, as Reuben passed the open doorway. A word with you. Reuben paused, then came back a step. So you are Mr. Linden's friend, are you? said the doctor, in a careless manner. Do you want anything of me, sir? Reuben said. Why, yes, I commonly want an answer to a question. I don't just know what you mean by a friend, Dr. Harrison, said Reuben respectfully. I might answer wrong. So, rather than do that, you like to be on the safe side. Suppose you ask Mr. Linden to teach you definitions, among other things, and look here. Keep him quiet, and don't let anybody talk him out of his sleep tonight. That's all, and the doctor followed Reuben immediately. With a feeling of satisfaction, certainly Mrs. Derek at last locked and bolted the door, shutting out the driving mist and all that might hide within it, and then went to look after the only treasure the house contained. She wasn't far to seek. For as the locking and bolting sounded through the house, Faith came down and went with her mother into the sitting-room. Have you had nothing to eat yet, mother? She exclaimed as her eye fell on the orderly tea-tray. No child, nor shan't want it, till I see you have something. Faith smiled a little, came and put her arms around her and kissed her, and then said about the whole work of getting tea over again. It was with a very pale face, yet only the silver ring of her voice told the change of the mental atmosphere. Her mother looked at her, but was perhaps afraid to ask questions to disturb the quiet. Reuben's a good boy, she said, feeling that remark to be perfectly safe. I'm glad he's there, Faith answered gravely. I heard all Dr. Harrison said, mother. Yes, child, said her mother, as if she knew that before. I thought you'd see Reuben, too. Reuben said the same, mother, and Mr. Linden himself sent word that there was no cause to be anxious. Faith did not say he had written that word to her. Perhaps her own consciousness might have made her shy of the subject, or perhaps what she judged to be people's false reports had left a sore spot in her heart, and she was afraid of touching that. But she did not speak of the little note which I come to her. She was preparing her mother's tea with all speed, while Mrs. Derrick, on her part, peeped into the sugar bowl to see it wanted filling, and began to cut the bread. I'm glad to hear it, child, she said. Dr. Harrison's too smart for me. I can't get a bit of good out of him. My faith, I suppose Mr. Linden can manage him. But if I had that man buzzing round me, I shouldn't know whether I was sick or well. When is he coming back, child? I don't know, mother. Then with the invincible instinct of truth, she added. He wants my work to be ready for him Monday. Ruben's got a great deal of gumption, said Mrs. Derrick, her heart quite expanding with the pleasure of hearing faith talk once more. Now half the boys in town would have blurted that right out to me and Dr. Harrison together, and I wouldn't trust him for not asking questions. But I'm sure I'm glad, child. It seems as if he'd been gone a month. Do you think he'll come tomorrow? Maybe he meant you should send your work down to him. I shan't do that, said Faith, as she gave her mother, at last, a cup of tea that was to be drunk. But she had poured out none for herself. She sat before the tea-tray, still and pale, her mother looked at her. You must take some, child. I don't want it, mother. And she brought everything that was on the table round her mother's plate. You must, Mrs. Derrick repeated. I shan't, if you don't, or else I'll see you get a glass of wine. Why, child, she said, with half a sober, half smiling look, which Faith for once did not read. He's better. You ought to eat and be thankful. I am thankful, Faith said, her head sinking for a moment. Mrs. Derrick deliberately got up, went to the pantry, and fetching thence a tiny cup and plate set them before Faith. Eat, pretty child, she said. You know I'm right. If you don't look out, Mr. Linden will be worse scared when he comes home than he's been to-day, I guess. Faith gave her a look, both grateful and appealing, and very innocent of belief in her statement, and did honor to the little cup so far as to fill it with tea which she swallowed, but the plate she left clean. I can't tonight, mother, she said, in answer to Mrs. Derrick's look. I'll eat breakfast. CHAPTER XIX It cannot be said that sleep came to Faith's eyes unbidden, yet once come sleep rested there sweetly, even beyond her usual time, and the first disturbing sound, in that misty Sunday morning, was the stopping of a wagon at the front door. But if Faith ran to the window with any special expectations, they were disappointed. There was nothing at the door but crab, his companion the little wagon, and Mrs. Derrick composedly getting out of the same, which was at least surprising enough. The good lady's next appearance was a very noiseless one in Faith's room. Dear mother, where have you been? Why, I've been trying to get ahead of Dr. Harrison, said her mother, sitting down, and I did it too. I should have been home before if I hadn't been afraid of meeting him, so I had to take the cross-road. Mrs. Derrick seemed tired. You didn't look at me so, child, she said, taking off her bonnet. It's enough to see one pale face in a morning. I did see him, Faith, though I didn't speak to him. How did he look, mother? I don't suppose he really looked bad, considering, said Mrs. Derrick, with the tired look on her own face. But I am not used to seeing him pulled down. It sort of upset me to see him lie there and those two boys keeping watch of him. I declare, Faith, I wouldn't like to be the one to touch him with them sitting by. But how is he, mother? What did you see? I didn't see anything but them. Mr. Simlins wasn't up. They said he'd seemed better, dear, and that if I'd seen him last night I'd think he had quite a colour now, so I suppose he is better. Only I hadn't got the heart of a kitten sometimes, and a little motion of the lips warmed to Faith that if her mother was sparing the details it was because she could scarce give them. But isn't he as well as the doctor said? He would look pale, you know. I shouldn't have known from what the doctor said that he'd anything more than a scratch on the tip of his little finger, said Mrs. Derrick, so I believe I didn't expect even to see him look pale. All the while the doctor was staring at the pantry doors. I didn't know but he'd get up and open him and look in. You said two boys were there. Who besides Ruben Taylor? Oh, Sam Soutenberg was to the other side, to Mrs. Derrick, and wanted to know how you were. I had a great mind to tell him it was none of his business. I suppose he thinks his heart is as large as he is and can hold everything at once. A shadow of something seemed to cross Faith at the mention of Sam's name. She turned away and began dressing herself. Don't stir again, mother, she said. I'll come down and see about breakfast. It'll rest me to go with you, child. I told Ruben I'd come again and stay if Mr. Linden would let me and Ruben would send me word, so I want to see you in the meantime, but I don't think they'll send. The breakfast was a quiet meal, though Faith, but poorly performed her promise of eating. How Faith spent the hour after breakfast her mother could but guess. Then she came out with her bonnet on and kissed her before setting off to Sunday school. The thick mist yet filled the air, growing yellow now with the struggling sunbeams. She walked quick and met nobody. Till she came to her place, and there she found not Charles Twelfth alone, but the other two little additions to her charge that had been promised her. For though it was by no means cold weather, the warm sunny days lingering yet, and this Sunday promising to be a good specimen, it happened that Johnny and his companion had received a special injunction to come, as Faith found out, and they were there accordingly. And if Johnny regretted his old place in another class, it was not for the reason his new teacher had feared. Face, face, was very pale, and of itself touched the children, and her words this day came in a tone that won all the recesses of their hearts. She had forgot about other teachers or children being in her neighborhood, and on these three her stories of love and tenderness poured themselves out. She told them with warm lips, of Christ and his love and his leading, of the safety and joy of his sheep, of her wish that her little charge should become lambs in that flock and what sort of lambs they must be. Faith spoke to her children very much as if she had been a child herself. They knew instinctively, with very sure knowledge, that she belonged to the fold of which she was joyously telling them. The children, on their part, met her variously. Johnny, with his clear childish eyes, the flower-like unfolding of his little heart to that warm sunshine, gave her more help than trouble. She understood the liking to teach him for her own sake. If his thought sometimes wandered a little from her words, the downcast look, the slight quiver of his childish lips, told Faith where they had gone, and she could forgive him. But though at such times Robbie Waters also remembered to look grave too, yet he displaced to Faith's gravity once by whispering to her, in the midst of her earnest admonitions to Charles Twelth, that she knew she was pretty, and was in general in an easy, docile state of mind, and much interested and amazed at the deportment of his little neighbor, Charles Twelth. When Faith came out of the school, she saw that all the seats of Mr. Linden's class were vacant, and with that little reminding touch went to her own place in the church. It was between nine and ten o'clock, while Faith was yet lost in her little charge, while Mrs. Derrick at home was thinking of her, and Mr. Simlins was taking his breakfast, that Dr. Harrison's Kirkle reached the farmer's gate. All was quiet within the house, but when Jenny Loudon's admitted the doctor to the hall, the array of hats and caps upon the table might have startled a less professional man, might have even suggested the idea that Mr. Simlins was having a breakfast party. Let me see Mr. Linden, said the doctor. Jenny hesitated, then her fear of Dr. Harrison overcoming her scruples she walked softly to the door and opened it. But if the doctor wanted to see his patient he was obliged to wait for a little, for the group of boys, some standing, some kneeling around his bed, hid everything else. The room was very still, very earnest, even Dr. Harrison could feel that. The sound of words, very low spoken, was all he could hear. The closing door made itself heard, however. Several boys turned round and at once stepped aside, and the doctor saw his patient, not dressed, but lying as he had left him the night before. Mr. Linden smiled, and saying some words to his class held out his hand towards the doctor, but this was fastened upon at once by so many that the doctor again had to wait his turn, and it was not until everyone else had touched that hand, some even with their lips, that he was left alone with his patient. What are you doing? he said, in a sort of grave tone, which did not however mean gravity, holding a levy, and did you receive your courtiers at different hours according to their ages, in that case I have come at the wrong time. No, you shall have the time all to yourself. I see I have it. Are the juvenile members of the Society in Patequassa to custom to pay their respects to you at this hour in the morning? Not always. Once a week we meet to talk over pleasant things. Have I interrupted the pleasant things now? No, I could not talk very long this morning. The boys were just going. I wish I had come a little sooner, said Dr. Harrison. I am not a boy, to be sure, but I don't know that they are privileged to monopolize all pleasant things. If they are, I am against monopolies. However, if you can't talk, you mustn't talk. How do you do? I do well, if a man can be doing well while he is doing nothing. I will talk as long as you please about pleasant things. The doctor, however, diverged to the state of his patient's health, nor would talk of anything else till his investigations on that point were made. The result of them seemed to be satisfactory. Now, Lyndon, he said, in a tone that indicated they were free to ask an answer. Who was that fellow last night? Have you any idea? It is difficult to identify a man when you are only within gunshot of him and after sundown, said Mr. Lyndon, smiling. Difficult? Yes, it may be, but you gathered something. I gathered a run. That is, said the doctor, looking at him, you have an opinion on the subject and are not willing to risk it? No, said Mr. Lyndon. I have had risk enough for one night. You are mistaken, Lyndon. A hint might be quite enough to bring out the certainty. My father is very eager about the matter and is only waiting for you to empower him to act. I shall give you no hint, said Mr. Lyndon. I might be willing to risk my own opinion but not another man's character. The doctor looked at him keenly and curiously. What possible motive, he said, for it is evident that the shot was fired of intent and evident that you yourself think so. It is unheard of. Were you bred to the bar that you sum up evidence before it is given, said Mr. Lyndon, with a good humored raising of his brows of the doctor? But the man ran. So did I. He could hardly think I was much hurt. I don't want to have such a fellow abroad in Patacwasset, said the doctor. But suppose we go back to the pleasant things. You must start the subject, Lyndon. Rousseau says a man can best describe the sweets of liberty from the inside of a prison. So, I suppose, you being shot at and laid on your back can have no lack of theme. Mr. Lyndon smiled. The smile of a most unfettered spirit. Liberty, he said. Yes, I have realized since I have lain here that my soul is free as ambient air. My sense of liberty comes from the possession, not the want. Perspective possession, said the doctor. Unless indeed he went on with a humorous play of the lips, you mean that my orders to you to lie still merely gave zest to your triumphant knowledge that you could get up if you had a mind. A riotous degree of self-will that I believe I do not possess. Was that what good Mrs. Derrick meant when she wondered how I had hindered you? No, said Mr. Lyndon smiling. She meant that she did not think you had. She didn't mean a thing of the kind. She spoke in pure wonder and made me begin to wonder in my turn. Which wonder Mr. Lyndon did not inquire into? I'm very sorry I wasn't a boy this morning, said Dr. Harrison, after standing and looking down at him a little. Can't you sit down and say why? I should have heard so much, which now I am not to hear, for if I had been a boy I certainly should not have been missing at your levee. Oh, you deceive yourself, if you were a boy nothing short of my authority would bring you in the first place. I have not the slightest doubt the power would have been found equal to the resistance, said the doctor, bowing. Neither have I. Well, said the doctor, laughing a little peculiarly, in that case I should have been here. Now I have a fancy to know what you call pleasant things, Lyndon, you speak with a mouth full, as if there were plenty of them. Yes, there are plenty, Mr. Lyndon said, moving a little and resting his face on his hand as if he felt tired, but we were only talking of two this morning. Heaven and the way that they're. Dr. Harrison looked at him steadily. You are tired, he said gently. You shall not talk any more to me now, and I shall forbid you're holding any more levees today, after which, he added, the humorous expression coming back, I shall expect to hear a proclamation go through a patequacet that, like the nights of old, you are ready for all comers. Well, I'll come and see you tomorrow, as long as you'll let me, as a friend, for the pleasure of talking. You can have it all your own way, with a few more days' strength. Will you have a levee tomorrow at the same hour? A little play of the lips came with the answer. Will that suit you? I'll send word. Then looking up at the doctor, with a different expression, he added, What do you think of my pleasant things? Hardly in my lines, at the doctor, with a carelessness which was somewhat dubious in its character. It is very well for those who find the subject pleasant. I confess I have never studied it much. Then you have but half learned your profession. But the words were spoken so that they could not give offence. Neither did the doctor seem disposed to take offence. I'll ask you what you mean by that tomorrow, he said very pleasantly. I thought I had learned my profession. Have you learned yours? The last words were with a keen eye to the answer. Some people dignify my present business with that name, Mr. Linden said. Well, you shall discourse to me more at length tomorrow, said the doctor. Shall I come later? I don't expect to be in school tomorrow, so you may name your own time, Mr. Linden said, with a pleasant look. But remember, a physician who has no skill to feel the pulse of the mind, no remedies that can reach its fever or its chills, is but half a physician. I have never studied the subject. One word about heaven and the way hither would be worth more to me than all the science of medicine ever discovered. It is now, he said, in a low tone, as the flesh passed away. And then holding out his hand to Dr. Harrison, Mr. Linden added, I fully appreciate your skill and kindness. You need not doubt it. The hand was taken and grasped, cordially but in silence. Whether the doctor went straight from Mr. Simlin's house to church, where he was not a very constant attendant, it does not appear. What is certain about the matter is that he was outside of the church door, after service, just at the time that Faith Derek found herself there, and that he assumed a place at her side and walked with her towards her mother's house instead of taking the other direction towards his own. Faith was alone, Mrs. Derek having chosen to stay home in case she should be sent for. The mist had cleared off completely, and the sunny warm air invited to lingering in it. Faith would not have lingered, but the doctor walked slowly and she could not leave him. I have been wanting to see you, ever since my importune proposal yesterday, he said in a low tone, to make my peace with you. It is made, sir, said Faith, giving him a smile. How do you do today? Very well, she told him. The doctor listened to the sound of her voice and thought with himself that as regarded the moral part of her nature the words were certainly true. Let me have the pleasure of relieving you of that, he said, taking Faith's little Bible gently away from her. I am going your way, Ms. Derek, you spoke yesterday of a particular work to be done on Sunday. Have you any objection to tell me what you meant by it? I confess to you, your words are somewhat dark to me. That is my fault, of course. Will you give me light? It was a gentle, grave, quiet tone of questioning. Others might do it far better, sir, said Faith. I would far rather hear it from you. The color came a little to face cheeks, but her words were given with great simplicity. The other days are taken up very much with the work of this world. Sunday is meant more particularly for the work that belongs to the other world. And what is that, if you do not object to tell me? I confess, as I tell you, I am ignorant. She forgot herself now and looks steadily at him. To learn to know God, with whom we have so much to do here and there, to learn to know His will and to do it, and to bring others to do it too, if we can. And if we know and love Him already, to enjoy it and take the good of it, she added a little lower and with softening of expression. Dr. Harrison read her look fixedly till she turned it away from him. And are these what you call pleasant things, he asked somewhat curiously. But Faith's answer rang out from her heart. Oh, yes. She stopped there, but evidently not for want of what to say. You are a happy things, said the doctor, but not in a way to make his words other than graceful. I wish you would make me as good as you are. She looked at him and answered very much as if she had been speaking to a child. God will make you much better, Dr. Harrison, if you ask Him. He was silent a minute after that, without looking at her. When he spoke again it was with a change of tone. You are of a different world from that in which I live, and the flowers that are sweet to you, belong, I am afraid, to a flora that I have no knowledge of. What, for instance, would you call pleasant things to talk about if you were choosing a subject of conversation? Faith looked a little more surprised. A great many things are pleasant to me, she said smiling. I am sure of that, but indulge me. What would you name as supremely such, to talk about? If they are talked about right, said Faith gently, I don't know anything so pleasant as those things I was speaking of. What God will have us do in this world, and what He will do for us in the next. Heaven and the way thither, said Dr. Harrison to himself. What, sir? said Faith. I should like to have you answer me that, but I am sorry, I see Mrs. Derrick's house not far beyond us. I saw your friend Mr. Linden this morning. Is he better? said Faith, simply. He is doing very well. I told him he'd be a terribly famous man after this. And it's begun. I found near all the boys in Patequassa to assembled there this morning. His Bible class said Faith, with a feeling which did not however come into her face or voice, and Dr. Harrison watched both. Here is your Bible, he said, as they stopped at the gate. Do you always look so pale on Sundays, he added, with a look and tone of half-professional, half-friendly freedom. Not always, said Faith. But there came at the same time a tinge into the cheeks that Dr. Harrison wished away. May I come and earn your forgiveness for yesterday's stupidity? Certainly, said Faith. But there needs no forgiveness, from me, Dr. Harrison. He left her with a graceful, reverential obeisance, and Faith went in. End of Chapter 19 Chapter 20 of Say and Seal This is a LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Say and Seal by Susan Warner Chapter 20 Dr. Harrison had but little left Mr. Linden that morning, when Mr. Simlins came in. He had hardly seen his guests yet that day, except, like Mrs. Derrick, when he was asleep. For having watched himself the greater part of the night, for the pure pleasure of it, Mr. Simlins' late rest had brought him almost to the hour when the boys came to what the doctor called Mr. Linden's levy. Well, how do you find yourself, said the farmer, standing at the foot of the bed and looking at its occupant with a kind of grim satisfaction? I find myself tired, sir, and at the same time intending to get up. Mr. Simlins, are you going down to church this afternoon? Well, no, said the farmer. I think it's as good church as I can do to look after you. You can have both, said Mr. Linden, smiling. I should go with you. You ain't fit, said the farmer, regretfully. Fitty enough, I'll come back and stay with you another day when I am well, if you'll let me. Will you, said the farmer, I'll bottle that ear promise and cork it up, and if it ain't good when I pull the cork, then I'll never play Syrian again for no one. But suppose I ain't going to church. Then I shall have to take Ruben. You shan't take no one but me, groud Mr. Simlins. I'd rather see you out of my house than not, if I can't see you in it. The bells were ringing out for the early afternoon service when they set forth, not ringing against each other, as which should give the loudest call for its own particular church, but with alternate strokes speaking the same thing, the one stepping in when the other was out of breath. The warm sunshine rested upon all the windows, the warm sunshine rested upon all the evil and the good, and spoke its own message though not so noisily. Along the road Mr. Simlins's little covered wagon, chosen for various reasons, went at an easy pace, with one to drive and one to bear the motion as best he might, and a third who would almost have agreed to be a pillow or a cushion for the rest of his life, if he could have been one for that day. What there were of that sort in the wagon, or indeed in the house, were to rubenize far too thin and ineffectual. A little excitement, a very earnest desire to get home once more, did partially supply the need, and by the time the houses were empty and the churches full, the wagon stopped at Mrs. Derrick's gate. I guess nobody's home, said Mr. Simlins, as he, with great tenderness, helped Mr. Linden to alight, but anyway, here's the house all standing. Ruben, you go ahead and see if we can get in. But before Ruben touched the door, Mrs. Derrick had opened it from the inside and stood there, her usually quiet manner quite subdued into silence. Not into inaction, however, for her woman's hand soon made their superior powers known, and Mr. Simlins could only wonder why this and that had not occurred to him before. Quick and still and thoughtful she had done half a dozen little things to make Mr. Linden comfortable before he had been in the house as many minutes, and assured the two others very confidently that he shouldn't faint again if he wanted to ever so much. Well, I was sorry to let him go, said Mr. Simlins, and now I'm glad of it. It takes a woman. Where's some somebody else? There's nobody else in the house, said Mrs. Derrick, face gone to meeting, and Cindy too, for all I know. I'll tell Dr. Harrisonward in the morning where I am, said Mr. Linden, which Mr. Simlins rightly understood to mean that fact need not be published tonight. He took gentle leave of this lost guest and went to church, excusing himself for it afterwards by saying he felt lonely. If faith had seen in there, she might have jumped at conclusions again, but she did not, and after the service walked home slowly again, though nobody was with her. A little wearied by this time, with the night and the day's work, wearied in body and mind perhaps, she paced homewards along the broad street or road, on which the yellow leaves of the trees were floating lazily down, and which was all filled from sky and wayside with golden light. It brought to mind her walk of last Sunday afternoon and evening, the hymn and those other lines Mr. Linden had repeated, and which had run in her head fifty times since, and faith's step grew rather slower and less lightsome, as she neared home, and when she got home she went straight up to her room, without turning to the right or the left. Her mother was just then in the kitchen and hurt her not, and shielded by her bonnet, faith saw not even, that Mr. Linden's door stood open, but when she came out again a little while after, the full stream of sunlight that came dense into the passage drew her eyes that way, and faith did not wonder then that her mother had been startled, and unprepared by the doctor's words, for the sight of what she now saw. The chins-covered couch was drawn before the window, in the full radiance of the sunlight, and Mr. Linden lay there looking out, but the sunlight found no glow in his face, and less one as ethereal as itself. The habitual sweet pure look was there, a look that reminded faith of the one Johnny had worn in the morning, but the face was perfectly colourless. The bandaged arm was supported only by a sling, upon the other hand his cheek rested wearily. Faith looked, hesitated, then stepped lightly into the room and stood before him, with a face not indeed quite so pearless his own, but that only the sunlight hindered his seeing was utterly without its usual colour. She found nothing to say apparently, for she did not speak, only held out her hand. He had turned at the first sound of her step, and watched her, at first smiling, then grave, as she came near, and taking her hand as silently as it was given, Mr. Linden looked up at her face, perhaps to see whether his instructions had been obeyed. I have had men's hands about me so long, he said, that yours feel like, he did not specify what, but held it a minute as if he were trying to find out. Miss Faith, you want to be rocked to sleep. Could he see that her lips trembled? He could feel how her hand did, but her look was as frank as ever. Are you less well today? she said at last, in a voice that was little above a whisper, and stopped short of his name. Less well than yesterday at this time, not less well than this morning, a little more tired perhaps. He spoke very quietly, answering her words, and letting his hand and eye do the rest. Has Mrs. Derrick a cradle in the house that would hold you? Perhaps Faith hardly heard the question, for she did not acknowledge it by so much as a smile. She wished to ask the further question whether the assurance of last night was still true, but his appearance had driven such fear to her heart that she dared not ask it. She stood quite still a minute, but when she spoke her words were in the utmost clear sweetness of a woman's voice. Can I do something for you, Mr. Linden? You are doing something for me now, it is so pleasant to see you, but, Miss Faith, I shall have to reclaim some of your scholars. You have been teaching too much today. No, she said, I have had no chance. No chance to teach too much, and why? Why, she said, I had only the usual hour this morning, I could do no more. You look as if you had been teaching all day, or taught, which is but another branch. What did my boys say to you? I think they thought they were saying to you, Mr. Linden. They behaved so well. He smiled. I don't believe even your conjuring powers could bring about such a hallucination, Miss Faith. What a day it has been. Look at that sunlight, and think of the city that hath no need of the sun. She looked where he bade her, but the contrast was a little too strong just then, with the earth that had so much need of it. Only the extreme gravity of her face, however, indicated anything of the struggle going on. Her eye did not move, nor eyelid. That is the only rest we must wait for, Mr. Linden said. That remaineth. Faith answered nothing, but after a little while the shadow of that sunlight passed away from her face, and she turned to the couch again, and asked with her former gentle expression, Will you have tea up here, Mr. Linden? I'm afraid I must, he said, looking up at her with eyes that's rather questioned than answered. Does mother know what you would like to have? Miss Faith, I wish you would tell me just what is troubling you. The question flushed her a little, and for a moment her face was a quick play of light and shade, then she said, It troubled me not to see you looking better. He took the force of her words, though he answered lightly. I suppose I do look rather frightful, but Miss Faith, I hope to get over that in a few days. You must try and brace up your nerves, because if you cannot bear the sight of me, I shall have to deny myself the sight of you. Don't do that, she said, the light coming into her eye and voice as if by actual thumbing. Then it is true what you wrote to me last night, Mr. Linden. Well, he said, I am not much in the habit of maintaining my own words, however in this case I am willing to admit them true. If it will be any relief to your mind, Miss Faith, I will promise to remain in seclusion until you say I am fit to be seen downstairs. The answer to that was only a rosy little smile, like the sunlight promise of fair weather on the last clouds that float over the horizon. But perhaps his words have brought her mind back to the question of supper, for she asked again, What are you going to have for tea tonight, Mr. Linden? May I take a great liberty, he said with a look as grave as before. I don't know how you can, she said, and with eyes somewhat surprised, that said in her own way it was impossible. A little smile, which she scarcely saw, came first, and then her hand was brought to his lips, but it was done too gravely and gently to startle even her. Now you must go and rest, Mr. Linden said, I want nothing for tea that shall cost one extra step. Faith went about as silently and demurely as a cat that has had her ears boxed and been sent out of the dairy. Only in this case she went to her dairy. From whence in due time she emerged with cream and butter, and made her appearance in the kitchen. Well, child, said Mrs. Derrick, when did you get home, and what did you do with yourself? I've looked and looked for you till I was tired, and if you'd stayed five minutes more I should have run all over town after you. Wine mother, said Faith, I was in my own room for a good while. I got home in usual time. Well, said her mother, I hope next time you'll say as much, that's all. Do you know you've got company, Faith? Who, mother? Oh, I've seen Mr. Linden. I meant him, said Mrs. Derrick. I'm sure the house seems as if it had twice as many in it since he came. The ought to have tea now, mother. Is Cindy home yet? No, but that's no matter. I'll take it up in two minutes. Where's the teapot? I think, mother, said Faith, as she was adding the last touches to the tray, which was to go upstairs. I must have put Mr. Linden in mind of his sister, or somebody this afternoon. I am afraid he misses them now. What do you mean by somebody, said Mrs. Derrick? Some of his own family, I mean. I thought so. I don't believe you ever put anybody in mind of anybody else, said Mrs. Derrick confidently. What made you think so, child? Something made me think so, said Faith rather abstractly. Now, mother, it is ready. And I'll take it upstairs, if you'll take it then. I guess I'm up to as much as taking it all the way, said her mother, lifting the tray. I'll be down presently, dear. You must want your tea. And upstairs she went. Ruben came to stay all night, so the ladies only had to take their own much-needed sleep in peace. And a note of information was left at Dr. Harrison's door next morning, some time before that gentleman was awake. End of Chapter 20