to unseen influences. The warm breeze was softly rubbing Faith's cheek with its rouging fingers, and her mother gazed—nor could give one look to humming-birds or roses.
Her thoughts however, took greater range—or the low chiming of the village clock sent them off; for she presently said,
"Faith, my dear, what have we got for tea?"—that meal being underFaith's special superintendence.
"Very good blackberries, mother, and beautiful raspberries; and I cut my cream-cheese; and Cindy is ready to bake the bannocks. Butter's as sweet as it can be, this churning. Will that do?—Mr. Linden likes raspberries and cream," she added a little lower.
Mrs. Derrick gave a comprehensive "Yes, child," to both parts of Faith's reply, and then stopped and looked away up the street. For down the street at that moment came Mr. Linden, walking leisurely, his head bent towards one of his older scholars who had both hands clasped round his arm. The boy's upraised eager face shewed even at a distance how earnestly he was talking.
"There he comes!" said Miss Danforth.
"Who is that with him?" said Faith.
"Reuben Taylor, child," her mother answered.
Then as they came near the gate, and stopped and shook hands, Reuben cried out (in answer to words which they did not hear)
"Let me go! do, please, Mr. Linden!"—and went; while his teacher opened the gate, picked one of the drooping roses, came up the steps and taking off his hat bowed to the assembled ladies.
"Well, Mr. Linden," said Miss Danforth, "how do you find thePattaquasset diamonds?"
"I find, madam, that they shine—as is the custom of diamonds."
"Are you going to let Reuben Taylor go?"
"Whither?" said Mr. Linden.
"Why, where he asked you. Is he one of Mr. Somers' precious stones?"
"He has gone," was the smiling reply. "Precious?—yes,—everybody is precious in one sense."
"You haven't been to college for nothing," said Miss Danforth, who would talk about anything. "I should like you to find out in what sense I am precious. I've a good many friends—but there isn't one of 'em that wouldn't eat and drink just as well with me out of the world as in it."
He smiled a little—though rather soberly, and stood watching the changing colours of clouds and sky for a minute or two without speaking. Then, half to himself as it were, low but very distinctly, he repeated—
"'And they shall be mine, saith the Lord, in the day when I make up my jewels.'"
The answer to this was only in pantomime, but striking. Miss Danforth did not speak, and instead thereof turned her head over her shoulder and looked away steadily over the meadows which stretched north of the house into the distance. Faith's eyes fell to the floor and the lids drooped over them; and as plain a veil of shadow fell upon her face. Mrs. Derrick's eyes went from one to the other with a look which was not unwonted with her, and a little sigh which said she thought everybody was good but herself.
"Bain't ye never comin' in to supper?" said Cindy, framing herself in the doorway. "I want to get out after supper, Miss Faith," she said dropping her voice,—"I do, real bad."
"Is all ready, Cindy?"
"Yes marm," said Cindy. "I'm free to confess there's a pile o' cakes baked."
"Miss Faith, when do you mean to shew me the shore?" said Mr. Linden turning round.
"You have been so busy all the week," said Faith,—"and then you didn't speak of it, Mr. Linden—I can go any time."
"My dear," said Mrs. Derrick, "there comes Squire Deacon. Maybe he'll stay to supper. I'll go and put on another cup."
Mr. Linden gave one glance at the opening gate, and followed Mrs.Derrick into the house.
"Miss Faith," said the Squire, "do you think the night dews conducive to—to your comfort?"
"When they are falling," said Faith abstractedly. "Why not, Mr. Deacon?"
"To be sure!" said the Squire gallantly,—"honeysuckles and such things do. But what I mean is this. Cilly's goin' to get up a great shore party to-morrow, and she says she couldn't touch a mouthful down there if you didn't go. And like enough some other folks couldn't neither."
"Mother's gone in to tea. Will you come in and ask her, Squire?"
"Couldn't stay, Miss Faith—Cilly's lookin' out for me now. But you can tell—your mother'll go if you do,—or you can go if she don't, you and Miss Danforth. It's good for you now, Miss Faith,—the saline breezes are so very—different," said the Squire.
"When are you going, Mr. Deacon?"
"Soon as we can tackle up after dinner, Cilly thought. But fix your own time, Miss Faith—I'll call for you any hour of the twenty-six."
Faith hesitated, and pulled a leaf or two from the honeysuckle; then she spoke boldly.
"But you forget we have a gentleman here, Squire;—we can't go withoutMr. Linden."
"I don't want his help to drive my horse," said the Squire, with a little change of tone,—"but whoever hinders his going, I don't. The shore's wide, Miss Faith,—it don't matter how many gets onto it. There's no chance but he'll go if you ask him. Who wouldn't!" said the Squire, relapsing into his former self.
"We'll come down then some time in the course of the afternoon," saidFaith, "and see what you are doing."
"Then I sha'n't drive you down, sha'n't I?" said Squire Deacon. "Never mind—it's no matter,—come when you like, Miss Faith, we'll be glad to see you, anyhow." And the Squire closed the little gate after him energetically.
"Cinderella is in despair, Miss Faith," said Mr. Linden as Faith entered the dining-room. "Miss Danforth—how could you keep Squire Deacon so long, and then send him home to supper!"
"It's all your fault, sir," said Miss Danforth cheerfully. "And I guess the Squire has got his supper."
"He must be a man of quick despatch," said Mr. Linden; while Faith after a glance to see if her bannocks were right, made her announcement.
"Mother, there's a shore party to-morrow."
"Who's going, child?"
"Squire Deacon and Cecilia—and I don't know who else—and he came to ask us. Will you go and take tea with us at the shore, Mr. Linden?"
"Does that mean that my tea is to be transported to the shore, and thatI am to go there to find it, Miss Faith?"
"You have a very puzzling way of putting things," said Faith laughing, though her look bore out her words. "I don't think it means that. Your tea won't be there before you are, Mr. Linden. Wouldn't you like to go?"
"The Squire says there is room enough on the shore," suggested Miss Danforth. "I suppose he wants a good deal for himself, or he wouldn't have thought of it."
"Perhaps he thinks I want a good deal," said Mr. Linden. "Well—in consideration of the width of the shore, I think I will go. Is not that your advice, Miss Faith? What are the pros and cons,—if you were to state them fairly?"
"Well," said Faith, "you will have a pleasant ride, or walk, down—whichever you like;—I think it is very pleasant. You can go in the water, if you like, which everybody does; there's a beautiful shore; and I suppose that would be pleasant. You'll see all that is pretty about the place while the people are digging clams and preparing supper; and then you'll have supper; and then we shall come home; and I think it is all pleasant, except that there will be too many people. I like it best with just a few."
"As if we were to go down there to-night in the moonlight.—Now MissFaith—what is the other side?"
"Just that—the too many people. There isn't a chance to enjoy anything quietly. I can enjoy the people too, sometimes, but not the other things at the same time so well. Perhaps you can, Mr. Linden."
"I can sometimes enjoy the other things at the same time—better."
Faith