Kitabı oku: «Say and Seal, Volume I», sayfa 27

"Miss Faith—do you consider yourself disguised?"

The soft laugh which it was impossible to keep back, answered to his ear, as the flush which overspread Faith's face answered to eyes of the rest of the company.

"That will do to begin with," he said as he took off the plaid ribband, while Mrs. Stoutenburgh laughed and clapped her hands after her own lively fashion.

"But Miss Faith!" said Sam—"don't tie up your head, please!—if you shut your eyes it will do just as well."

"You can't see her eyes if they're shut, you foolish boy," said Mr. Linden,—"go off and attend to your own affairs. Miss Faith, shall I tie this on—or do you wish for a deputy?"

There is a great deal of character that comes out in a play! Miss Essie might have had excellent opportunity for prosecuting her "studies," if she had not been busy on her own score. For Faith did not play like Mrs. Stoutenburgh. She played like herself—with a gentleness that never overstepped delicate bounds; but her foot was light and true, and her movements fearless and free as those of the very boys. It was a pretty game that she played. It would have been a short one, but that it was so hard to identify her captives. One boy after another Faith caught,—to the feeling they were all alike! At last her hand seized an other prize, and her voice exclaimed, Mr. Stoutenburgh!

There was a sharp change about now between the older and the younger people. Faith did her best not to be caught again. But after half a dozen changes between Mr. Linden and the boys, he again had the pleasure of investing her with the plaid ribband.

"May I give her the question?" whispered Miss Essie at Mr. Linden's ear.

"No indeed!" said Mr. Linden.—"Miss Faith, what is the difference between a bird and a philosopher?"

Somewhat to the surprise as well as amusement of the company, the answer to this was the heartiest, merriest bit of a laugh; then she said,

"One looks round the corner, Mr. Linden!"

"Well you won't see round the corner now," he said softly and laughing as he tied on the ribband. "Miss Faith! do you mean to say I did?"

She said "no," and ran away. But Faith was not in luck this time, for she caught Miss Essie. And Miss Essie in a few minutes got the chance she wanted at Faith. She wouldn't have had it, for Faith ran too well and vanished too skilfully; but a little knot of the boys getting into a knot just in her way and at the wrong time, Faith fell a prey.

"Now," said her captor unbinding her ribband, "what do you think I am going to ask you?"

Faith was very doubtful on the subject, and waited in silence.

"Only a matter of taste," said Miss Essie. "Who do you think"—(speaking slowly)—"is the handsomest man in Pattaquasset?"

The colour mounted in Faith's cheeks too distinctly to leave any room for the doubt that no other answer was at hand. She avoided Miss Essie's black eyes.

"Come!" said that lady.

"I can't tell you,"—said Faith, amid the laughter of some of the company, which was enormous.

"You can't!" said Miss Essie. "Now you are at my mercy. You have got to tell me something else and give your reason. What do you think is the best profession a man can follow?"

"Any one is good that is used right," said Faith, looking down and speaking with difficulty,—"but I suppose the best is a minister's."

"Why?" said Miss Essie, disappointed.

"Because the business of that profession is to lead men to heaven;—that of others is only to fit them for earth."

"My dear, you're a fine girl!" said the Squire—willing Faith should say anything that cut out Dr. Harrison. "Miss Essie, what do you mean by asking her such a string of questions?—how can she tell who's the handsomest man? She wouldn't like to hurt Mr. Linden's feelings by saying me, nor to make us both mad by saying anybody else—if there was anybody else to speak of."

"You hush, Mr. Stoutenburgh!" said Miss Essie. "Don't you know how to ask questions? Now Faith Derrick—run off with yourself." Faith obeyed with a trifle less than her usual spirit; but the game presently called it back again. Darting about, like some gentle-hearted hawk, among those flying pigeons, she had seized one boy and another with her usual bad success in the matter of identifying, when the boys suddenly cleared away a little—anxious perhaps that Mr. Linden should be caught again; for of all the players he gave them the most fun. And so effectually did they clear the way—so ineffectually did he protect himself! that the next grasp of Faith's hand was upon his arm. And her voice gravely announced that she knew it.

"Now Faith!" said Mrs. Stoutenburgh, "do puzzle him if you can—give him a hard question."

"She does not want to ask me any questions," said Mr. Linden as he untied the ribband. "You forget, Mrs Stoutenburgh, how many she can ask every day. Now with Miss Essie the case is quite different."

Very quiet and pleasant was the look bent on Faith,—very cool and undisturbed the manner. "Miss Faith, are you tired?—I must be philosophical enough to inform you that there is a shadow of puss-in-the-corner!"

And a very plain expression of gratitude was in her eyes and smile as she answered, "No, I'm not tired, Mr. Linden—but I would as lieve look on as play."

That seemed to be the general grown-up mind; but before the looking on had lasted long, everybody was called into another room to supper. There the boys were left somewhat to themselves at one end of the table, and the half dozen others stood or sat in the warm fireplace corner at the other. Mr. Linden indeed, and Squire Stoutenburgh, were both "boys" very often; but their returns to the ladies were frequent and prolonged. Faith was enthroned in a great chair, and there petted by Mrs. Stoutenburgh, while everybody brought her things by turns—a privilege highly prized by some of the boys. Neither could Miss Essie complain of want of attention, while Mrs. Stoutenburgh and Mr. Linden took laughing care of each other between whiles.

"Miss Essie," he said as he brought her a cup of coffee, "where are you in the pursuit of knowledge?"

Miss Essie laughed; yet not a triumphant laugh, nor even a satisfied one; it might be considered doubtful.

"I think," she said, "you are one of a sort I don't much understand, Mr. Linden—perhaps because I don't know them much. Aren't you one of what I may call the good sort?"

Faith's laugh, which was indeed very low but unavoidable, was the first testimony.

"I hope you may—" said Mr. Linden,—"the words sound pleasant. I am not quite sure what they mean."

"Ah! There you are again!" said Miss Essie. "As difficult to catch at other things as at blind man's buff. Well I'll be frank with you, for I don't mean to offend you. I mean, the sort of people who are called 'rigidly righteous'—people who think it incumbent on them to be better than their neighbours."

"O no—" said Mr. Linden,—"I quite disclaim that. I only think it incumbent on me to be better than myself."

"Yes, but you are one of the people I mean—aren't you?"

"Not according to that term, Miss Essie. May I ask what you mean by the other?"

"Rigidly righteous?"

"Yes."

"Why I told you—people that pretend to be better than people in general. People in general, you know, get on without pretending much to be good at all: and of course it's disagreeable to be brought short up at every turn with 'you ought not,' and 'you ought;' and whether it is said or acted don't make much difference. Now here's this child, a little while ago, thought she mustn't say anything was good but a minister.

"Do you mean Christians?" said Mr. Linden.

"Well—" said Miss Essie, "I hope we're all Christians—aren't we?We're not heathens."

"I mean the followers of Christ. Is that what you meant? I do wear the badge of that 'Legion of Honour.'"

Miss Essie looked fidgeted. Faith was letting her ice-cream melt while she listened. Mrs. Stoutenburgh in the midst of supper-table attentions gave an anxious eye and ear to the conference, which she would not interrupt.

"Well now tell me what you mean by that?" said Miss Essie, feeling herself in some confusion, of terms at least.

"Can I find plainer words? You know what was meant by a follower in the old feudal times?"

"No I don't," said Miss Essie beginning to sip her coffee again. "Tell me!"

"A follower was one who binding himself to the service his lord required of him, thenceforth paid it—in peace or in war,—to the end of his life. And the terms of agreement were two-fold,—fidelity on the one side, protection on the other. 'They follow me,' says Christ, 'and I give unto them eternal life.'"

"Yes, but," said Miss Essie, "do you think it is required that we should put ourselves so much out of the way to be good? I think people were meant to enjoy themselves."

"_I _enjoy myself—" said Mr. Linden smiling a little. "What think you makes the lark fly circling up into the very sunbeams, singing as lie goes?—is it duty? is it to rise above the robins and sparrows?"

"I don't understand you!" said Miss Essie respectfully.

"That is just the inner life of many a Christian,—his very heart-cry is,

 
   'Nearer, my God, to thee!
Nearer to thee!
E'en though it be a cross,
That raiseth me!'—"
 

"Well, you think nobody can be safe that don't live just so?" persistedMiss Essie.

"In whom such a life is not at least begun?—How can it be, Miss Essie?Safe? without the blessing of God?"

"Well there we differ," said the lady. "That's what I mean by being rigidly righteous. I think every one must judge for himself."

A little more erect Mr. Linden stood, drawing himself up slightly—it was his wont sometimes under a touch of excitement, and spoke with his deep emphasis these words—

"'This is life eternal, to know thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent.'—Miss Essie, where is your permit for free judgment against the Bible?"

"I didn't mean that," said Miss Essie, lowering her crest. "But I mean that everybody can't be good after your strict way."

"I am not standing up for myself, you know," said he pleasantly, "nor denying that you have described me right; but what a follower of Christ ought to be, is no more rigid than sunlight—or than the wings of angels. Yet both sun and angels 'always do his commandment' who made them both."

"Oh people can't be sunlight—nor angels neither, in this world. You'reUtopian! That's what I said."

"They can be 'burning and shining lights,'" said Mr. Linden. "MissEssie, will you gainsay the Bible? Why can they not?"

"They can be—but I suppose they aren't obliged to be; or what is to become of us all?" said Miss Essie, half seriously half defiantly.

"That will depend upon whom we follow," he answered gravely.

"Well now, Mr. Linden, how many people in the world are 'followers' in the way you have described them?—and are all the rest going to destruction? Take the people in this room now, for instance,—boys and all here's twenty of us perhaps. How many do you suppose are here of your way of 'following'? You're one—who's another? Stand off there, and see whom you can get to join you!"

"Stand off and say with Moses—'who is on the Lord's side?'—there would be several, Miss Essie."

"Well count up," said Miss Essie. "I suppose they have no objection to shew themselves. You are one—who's another?"

"I am another," said Faith, rising and setting down her ice cream.

"You!"—said Miss Essie turning the black eyes upon her,—"you look like it, child!"

"You must put the 'rigid' out of your head," Mr. Linden said, with a smile which changed as he spoke.

"Well who else?" said Miss Essie, for some reason or other in an impatient temper. "Tell them your definition, will you, and ask who'll stand by you. Mrs. Stoutenburgh!—make them all stop and attend."

"If I ask them you may think they come to please me."

"No, no, you know how to say it. Mr. Stoutenburgh!—boys!—listen. I want to know how many there are here of a particular kind of people—Mr. Linden will tell you what kind."

He spoke then—as Faith had once or twice heard him speak, sending his voice through the room almost without raising it.

"Miss Essie de Staff wishes to know how many there are here of a particular kind of people—those that 'have sworn unto the Lord, and will not go back.' Whoever is of that number will please come over to this side."

There was a little astonished pause. Mr. and Mrs. Stoutenburgh, just then at the further end of the room, had moved at Miss Essie's summons, but stopped short at the first sound of Mr. Linden's voice, and looked in a sort of maze,—he clearly was not jesting, that was all they could make out. That too the boys saw: but for a minute they stood like statues,—then Reuben stepped from the group and walked quietly, deliberately, over to where Mr. Linden stood; the covenant-signing in his face glowing with the Free Church addition—"until death!"

One and another followed him—one after another,—Faith was surprised to see how many: ranging themselves about Mr. Linden. But something in it all touched him—stirred him,—something perhaps personal to himself and them; for after the first three or four had come he looked no more,—his eyes fell, and the firmly compressed lips could not quite conceal their trembling. He stood as statue-like as the boys had done.

In the interest of a moment and a scene that she never forgot, it was a simple thing that Faith lost thought of her own standing. Perhaps Miss Essie shared her oblivion of self for that minute; her look of uneasy curiosity changed to a sobriety that was almost awe. Perhaps self-recollection came back; for after eying the dumb show with uncommonly blank black eyes, both they and she suddenly started into action.

"That will do," she said with voice and gesture,—"you may go back—scatter! and be boys again. Mr. Linden, what I complain of is, that you say you are on the Lord's side and that everybody else is not!"

His thoughts came back slowly, as from some far distant region,—he even turned to Faith and wheeled up a chair for her before he answered.

"No, Miss Essie—those last words I believe I never said. But the 'Lord knoweth them that are his'—let each one have answering knowledge for himself."

Miss Essie's look was not comfortable. She abandoned the point in hand, and swallowed her cold coffee.

"What are you talking about?" said Mrs. Stoutenburgh coming up to them. "What sort of a game was that, Miss Essie?"

"Nothing,"—said Miss Essie. "I said I would study Mr. Linden—and I have. I've found out two things about him."

"I wonder if he's been studying too!" said Mrs. Stoutenburgh.—"What are the two things? Miss Essie, your coffee's just as cold as Faith's ice is warm!—that comes of talking when you ought to be eating. Mr. Linden—just help Mr. Stoutenburgh with that little table, please—and I'll have the coffee-pot here and be comfortable."

"And I shall tell Miss Essie a story about fishes," said Mr. Linden as he obeyed.

Mrs. Stoutenburgh sat down behind her coffee-pot, while the gentlemen went back and forth between the two tables, bringing cups and cake and what else was needed for this "German cotillion," as Mr. Linden called it. During which interlude Miss Essie, after taking an observant view of Faith, gave her a significant private admonition, that "somebody" would not like her being there. Faith in vain endeavoured to get some light on this dark information; Miss Essie was startling but enigmatical, and suddenly turned from her and asked Mr. Linden "what was the story he had promised?"

"Not much of a story, though I called it one. It has to do with the way different races of fishes wear their bones."

"Well?" said Miss Essie, using her eyes; while Faith forgot her flushed cheeks and used hers.

"You are perhaps aware," he said smiling, "that even fishes have their inflexible points; in other words, a region of bone somewhere."

Miss Essie bowed her head, mentally ejaculating, "You have!"

"And all the fossil tribes, as well as those which now exist, are divided into two great classes,—those which wear their bones on the outside, and those which wear them within. The first have a perfect plate armour—jointed and fitted and carved, piece by piece; but the inner framework is merely cartilaginous. The others, while they shew nothing but pliant flesh, have an internal structure of bone which can outlast ages."

"Curious!" said Miss Essie, eying him all the while carefully. "Then I suppose we are all fishes!"

"I was thinking—apropos to our talk awhile ago—of the intangible, unseen nature of a Christian's strength. The moment his defence is worn on the outside, that moment there is a failure of strength within. His real armour of proof is nothing more 'rigid,' Miss Essie, than 'the girdle of truth,' 'the breastplate of righteousness,' and 'for a helmet the hope of salvation.'"

"Very good armour," said Miss Essie; "but can't he wear it without being unlike other people?"

"Can he?"

"Look here," said Squire Stoutenburgh, "what have you been about? If you've been studying anatomy, Mr. Linden, I'll go learn dancing!"

And the conversation diverged.

CHAPTER XXXII

Faith pondered probably Miss Essie's enigmatical words; but she said nothing on the subject even to her mother. Other people's words and looks had produced their share of disturbance at the time; disturbance that Faith did not like to recollect. And she would not recollect it, practically. It left no trace on her face or behaviour. The simplicity of both, unchanged in a whit, testified for her that her modesty would not take such hints from other people's testimony, and that there was no folly in her to be set fluttering at the suggestion.

The next Wednesday morning was one of great promise,—fair and soft and quiet, with November's sunshine softening November's brown dress.

"I think, Miss Faith," Mr. Linden said before he went off after breakfast, "that you should take a short run or two, before you try that long one to Mattabeeset."

"A run, Mr. Linden? Didn't I have one last night?"

"Truly yes,—but I mean on horseback. Will you take such a one to-day?"

"Yes!" said Faith, looking different things, especially pleasure,—"butMr. Linden, I don't know where I am to get a horse. Crab can't go now."

"Well, as I am to play the part of page, and run by your side," said Mr. Linden, "I am rather glad he can't!—no disrespect to his other good qualities. When will you be ready, Miss Faith?"

The hour fixed upon had need to be early, for the days were short; so though books had a little time after dinner, it was but a little. Then the horses came; and Mr. Linden took Faith in charge, with words from her mother that might have been very useful if they had been needed,—which in his case they hardly were. A fact which his reply, or the manner of it, seemed to impress upon Mrs. Derrick's mind, for she saw them ride off with nothing but pleasure.

Other people saw them with a variety of emotions All the boys they met (except Sam) looked unqualified delight,—from her window Mrs. Stoutenburgh gave them a gay wave of her hand; Miss Bezac on the sidewalk absolutely turned to look again. They rode leisurely up the grassy road, hardly beyond a walk at first, and it was not till the houses grew few and the road more open, that Faith had her promised run: which was but an easy trot, after all.

"You must begin very gently, Miss Faith," said her companion as they walked their horses up a little hill. "Look how those topsails mark the water line!"

"Yes—don't you like to see the white sails peeping over the trees? I always do. But Mr. Linden, I don't get tired easily—you needn't be afraid. I can go just as fast as you like." She looked enough in the mood.

"You know I am interested in the matter,—if I should come home to-morrow and find you gone to sleep at midday—I should lose my French lesson! Now you may have another run."

This run was rather a long one, yet came to an unexpected end, for turning a woody point in the road the two riders saw a wagon before them, so directly in their way, that the run changed to a walk even before they perceived that the wagon was in distress. Some bit of harness, some pin, had given way, and the driver had dismounted to repair damages. But moody, or intent upon his work, Faith's horse was close upon him before he looked up—then she saw it was Squire Deacon. He looked down again as suddenly, with only a slight motion of his hand to his hat.

Faith's first impulse would have been to rush on; but she checked that. Her next would have been to wait and leave somebody else to speak first; but she overcame that too. So it was her very clear gentle voice that asked,

"Are you in trouble here, Mr. Deacon?"

The Squire had no time to give his answer, and scarce a moment whereinto concoct it, for Mr. Linden had dismounted and now came betweenFaith's horse and the wagon, with,—"What is the matter, SquireDeacon?—can I help you?"

The Squire looked up them, full, with a face that darkened as he looked.

"It's you, is it?" he said slowly. "I thought it was Dr. Harrison!"

"Can I help you?" Mr. Linden repeated—and the tone was a little peremptory.

Sullenly and slowly the Squire told the damage—the broken harness, the lost lynch-pin; and let Mr. Linden take the first out of his hands, and do what he chose with it; looking on the while—then by degrees taking hold himself and working with him as with any other man, but throwing off jealously the kindness of his helper's words or manner. It was a grave kindness, certainly, but it did not belie the name. Faith sat looking on. After awhile her voice broke the silence.

"Did you say a lynch-pin was wanting, Mr. Deacon?"

"There's one gone."

"I should like to be doing something to help. Will you lend me your knife, Mr. Deacon?—and I'll try." But that brought a hand on her bridle.

"I cannot trust your horse out of my sight, Miss Faith,—I will get what is wanting."

"There's no use in anyone's doing anything," said Squire Deacon, by way of a settler; and the harness work went on in silence.

Faith waited a little.

"I am not the least afraid," she said then, leaning over her horse's neck but speaking no name. "There's a place only a little way back where I think I can get a lynch-pin,—if anybody will lend me a knife. Please let me go and be doing something! I want to go."

"This cord," said Mr. Linden, taking one up from the bottom of the wagon—"is it wanted for any special purpose, Squire Deacon?"

"I guess if you ask Joe he could tell you," said the Squire with a glance that way. "'Twas good for something, but he's tied it in forty knots—just to see if I'd be fool enough to pick 'em out."

"It would be very useful about this harness," said Mr. Linden,—"will you try and get rid of the knots?"—and he handed Faith the cord, with a smile which said she must make that do instead of the lynch-pin.

Which Faith did not particularly like, for she had a strong hankering for the ride back to the bushes. She dropped the bridle upon her horse's neck, and began to exercise her patience and skill upon the knots.

"I wish I had a knife!" she said as she did so, "and I'd shew you that I am not afraid." And a little colour rose in her face, which rather grew.

"That's easy," said Squire Deacon, looking suddenly up and extending his hand. "Here's one as'll cut through most things." Mr. Linden's head was bent over the harness,—neither eye nor hand stirred from his work.

"Thank you, Mr. Deacon," said Faith, feeling the blood rise to her brow,—"but I won't go for it now.—I'll do this first." In her confusion Faith did not see another person that joined the group, till he was standing at her horse's side.

"What sort of a bee are you gettin' up here on the high-way?" said Mr. Simlins in his good-humoured growl (and he had a variety.) "What air you doin' on horse-back?"

"There's harness to be mended here, Mr. Simlins—and I'm making rope for it."

"You go 'long!" said he. "Who are you makin' rope for? Give that to me?" But Faith held fast.

"No, Mr. Simlins, you can't have it—I am bound to get out these knots.There is work doing round here, that perhaps you can help."

Mr. Simlins stooped under her horse's head and went round to the other side, and then for the first time he got a full view.

"That's the way you perform actions!" he said; seeming too profoundly struck to be at all wordy. "'Say and Seal' I guess you be! What's the matter with you, Squire?"

"If anything is, I haint heard of it," said Mr. Deacon, with the knife lying heavy against his ribs. "Mr. Linden's turned harness-maker—that's the last news."

"O are you there, Mr. Simlins?" said the new mechanic, looking up from his work.

"Can't be more unlikely than you," said the farmer, beginning on his part to finger the broken harness. "How you come to be here passes all my imagery. That'll do smartly. Where did you learn all trades? I don't see, Squire Deacon, but he's as good at mendin' as you be at marrin'. What do you think?"

"I don't see as one man has much to do with another," said Mr. Deacon lucidly.

"Yes, that will do," said Mr. Linden. "Now Miss Faith—give me that cord if you please, and you shall go after the lynch-pin."

"No," she said pleasantly,—"it'll be done in a minute—I want to finish it."

"When did you get back from York, Squire?" said Mr. Simlins—"and what took you away? I haint heerd yet. I never believed you were gone for good—though folks said it."

"'Taint generally worth while to believe what folks says," replied the Squire. "I've been back three weeks, I guess. Shouldn't wonder if I went again though."

"Shouldn't wonder if you did," said Mr. Simlins. "I would if I was you—if I wanted to. Mr. Linden, it was a providential thing, that you should come along at this idiomatical moment. There aint another man in Pattaquasset would ha' done this so good as you."

"There is another line of business open to me then," said Mr. Linden, who had begun upon the other end of the piece of cord with opposition fingers.

"What aint open to you?" said Mr. Simlins. "Do you know of anything?Give us that cord—will you?"

"Yes, you may have it now—the knots are all out," said Mr. Linden, as he put the disentangled cord in the hands of Mr. Simlins and himself in the saddle. "Now Miss Faith, you shall have a lesson in lynch-pins—s'il vous plaît."

"You do beat all!" said Squire Deacon looking up from under his hat, and with a voice that kept his eyes company.

Faith looked very pretty as she turned her horse in obedience to the intimation given her, with a somewhat demure smile and blush upon her face. Mr. Simlins looked, as well as the Squire, with a different expression.

"Well, I guess you're about right!" was his answering remark. "I do believe he can get the whip hand of most things. He's a Say and Seal man, he says." To which, however, the Squire deigned no response. Stooping over his harness, fingering and fitting, he was silent a little; then spoke in a careless, half inquiring half assenting sort of way.

"What wonders me is, why he don't marry that girl out of hand. I reckon she'd follow him down that road as easy as she does down others. What's he waiting for?"

"I guess he haint pitched upon a likely place to settle yet,"—said Mr. Simlins, in a manner equally careless and devoid of reliable information. Squire Deacon gave a little inarticulate reply.

"He'd better hurry up—" he said,—"Dr. Harrison's giving chase."

"Is he?" said Mr. Simlins. "He'll be where the dog was when he chased the wolf—if he's spry. I shouldn't wonder."

"O—you think he's a wolf, do you?" said Mr. Deacon. "Well—the doctor's chance aint much the worse of that."

"Don't look very carnivorous," said Mr. Simlins, "but I aint sure. I wouldn't be so quick in my presumptions, Squire. You'll shoot the wrong game one of these days—if you haint already."

"Think so?" said the Squire. "Well, I aint after the game they are, any way, so it don't matter to me which of 'em gets her. Most folks say it's like to be the doctor,—she seems tryin' 'em both by turns."

The riders, on their part, had a short run back on the road they had come, to where there was a hedge and thicket and trees together; and Faith's horse being led close up to the side of the hedge, and she herself provided with a knife, she was free to cut as many lynch-pins as she chose. But at this point Faith handed back the knife. "I can't do it half so well," she said. "I would rather you did it, Mr. Linden."

"You would rather not do it?" he said looking at her. "Is no bread pleasant but that 'eaten in secret'?"

Faith coloured very much. "I didn't care about doing it, Mr. Linden, except to be useful, and for the enterprise of going off for it by myself. And I didn't care about that, more than two minutes."

"You know I had a charge about you before we came out," he said, taking the knife and bending down towards the hedge to use it. "But for that—or a like one in my own mind—you should have had your enterprise. There—I think that may serve the purpose."

The lynch-pin being delivered, the riders left the distressed wagon behind; and again the free road stretched before them; the soft air and light filled all the way and even the brown tree stems with pleasantness. The horses felt they had had a rest and pricked up their ears to be in motion again, and the minds of the riders perhaps felt a stir of the like kind.

"Miss Faith," said Mr. Linden, "a German writer says, that 'one should every day read a fine poem, look upon an excellent picture, hear a little good music, and, if possible, speak a few sensible words.'"

"Why do you tell that to me, Mr. Linden?"

"I consider it my duty to keep you well informed as to yours."

"But then!" said Faith, who by dint of trotting had got into as merry a mood as her gentleness often wore, "I hope you will also think it your duty, Mr. Linden, to tell me how I can perform mine. Will you?"

"Of course!—please speak a few sensible words to me at once."

"You begin with the easiest thing!" said Faith.

"Yes, I am generally considerate. But as it is part of my duty to hear a little good music, I am willing you should sing first."

Music he had, though not exactly of the specified sort; for Faith's laugh rolled along the road, like the chafing of silver pebbles in a brook.