Say and Seal, Volume I. Warner Susan

started, more than so gentle a question seemed to call for.

      "He's gone down to the post-office, mother."

      Her mother stood still and thought.

      "Child," she said, "I never thought we had any fools in our town before."

      "I didn't know there were so many," said Faith. "What new, mother?"

      "Child," she said, "you know more than I about some things—what do you s'pose fools can do? Isn't he a whole tree of knowledge?"

      "There is no fear of him, mother!" Faith said with a smile, which if the subject of it valued any faith in the world but his own it would have gratified him to see. "They can't touch him. They may vex him."

      Mrs. Derrick shook her head, softly, behind Faith's chair, then turned and went back into the house; not caring, as it seemed, to spread the vexation. Then after a little interval of bird music, the gate opened to admit Reuben Taylor. He held a bunch of water lilies—drooping their fair heads from his hand; his own head drooped a little too. Then he raised it and came firmly on.

      "Is Mr. Linden home, Miss Faith?"

      "No, Reuben—He will be directly, I guess. Do you want to see him?"

      "No"—said Reuben, "I don' know as I do, more than usual. I have seen him all day. He wanted some pond lilies, Miss Faith—at least he told me to bring 'em. Maybe it was you wanted 'em."

      "I'll give them to him, Reuben. What's the matter with you?"

      But Reuben stood silent—perhaps from the difficulty of speaking,

      "Miss Faith," he said at last, "is Squire Deacon all the trustees of our school, besides Mr. Somers?"

      "No. Why? What about it?"

      "He's doin' all the mischief he can," said Reuben concisely.

      "What mischief has he done, Reuben?" said Faith, waiting upon the boy's answer with an anxious face.

      "Well"—said Reuben, as if he could not put it in plain words,—"he's tryin' to turn folks heads—and some heads is easy turned."

      "How did you know this?—and whose head has he turned, Reuben? Not yours?"

      "They'd have to turn my heart, Miss Faith," was Reuben's subdued answer. Then he looked up and listened—hearing a step he well knew. Nor that alone, for a few low notes of a sweet hymn tune, seemed to say there were pleasant thoughts within reach of at least one person. Then Reuben broke forth.

      "They can't keep him out of heaven, anyway!—nor me, neither," he added softly. But he ran down the steps and out of the gate, passing his teacher with only a bow; and once beyond the fence, Reuben's head dropped in his hands.

      "Reuben! I want you!"—said Mr. Linden. But Reuben was out of sight.Faith stood between the house and the gate.

      "Where is he? can't you make him hear? I want that boy!" she said.

      "I can run after him– with doubtful success."

      "The foolish fellow brought these for you, Mr. Linden," said Faith, giving the lilies where they belonged.

      "Complimentary, Miss Faith!" said Mr. Linden, taking the lilies and smelling them gravely.

      "He is," said Faith, "and you speak as if I wasn't."

      "Will it redeem my character—or Reuben's—if I bestow the lilies upon you, Miss Faith? I think that was their destination."

      Faith took the lilies back again, with a slight smile and flash, and stood attentively turning them over for a while. Then suddenly said "Thank you."

      "What did you want of Reuben Taylor?" said Mr. Linden. "Cannot I do as well?"

      "I should be sorry to think you wanted, Mr. Linden, what I wanted to give him."

      "That sounds terrific! But Reuben is under my jurisdiction—I don't allow anybody to scold him but myself. So deliver it to me, Miss Faith, and I will give it to him—duly pointed and sharpened up."

      "No," said Faith smiling, "you couldn't do it so well as I. I wanted to say two words to him to put nonsense out of his head."

      "Nonsense!" said Mr. Linden, looking grave,—"I am as anxious on that point as you can be. What nonsense has he got in his head?"

      Faith hesitated, flushed and paled a little, and looked at her lilies.

      "I don't know whether I ought to speak of it," she began, with much less than her usual composure of speech. "Perhaps it is not my business. Please forgive me if I speak wrong. But I half think you ought to know it."—

      "I'll try to bear the knowledge," he said smiling—"if you will promise to speak the cabalistic two words that were to have such effect upon Reuben. So you want to put nonsense into my head, Miss Faith?"

      "Perhaps you know it already?" said Faith. "At any rate I think I should feel better satisfied if you did know it. Mr. Linden," she said speaking low—"do you know that Squire Deacon has been trying to do you mischief?"

      "Just suppose for a moment that you are one of my scholars, and give me a definition of mischief."

      To judge by the unbent lines of Faith's brow, there was nothing very disagreeable to her in the supposition. Yet she had a look of care for the 'definition,' too.

      "When a man is meaning to do harm, isn't he doing mischief?"

      "Only to himself."

      "But do you mean that one can't do harm to others in this world?"

      "You said 'when a man is meaning to do harm.'"

      "Ah," said Faith laughing, "I should want a great deal of teaching before I could give a definition that would suit you! Well then, isn't harm mischief?"

      "I'm afraid I must yield that point."

      "Then," said Faith simply, but very modestly,—"we come back to where we started from?"

      "What shall we do there?" said he smiling.

      "Nothing, perhaps," said Faith with the same simplicity. "I only thought it right to put you there, Mr. Linden."

      "Thank you, Miss Faith. Now will you please pronounce over me the two words intended for Reuben?"

      Faith laughed a little, but then said gravely, "Mr. Linden, I should be very sorry to think you needed them."

      "It's impossible always to avoid being very sorry: I want them, at all events. Haven't you just been putting nonsense into my head?"

      "Have I?" said Faith.

      "Do you suppose there was any there before?"

      "I—don't—think," said Faith, surveying his face,—"there is much there now. I guess you don't need the two words, Mr. Linden. I was going to tell Reuben he was a goose for thinking that that man could hurt you."

      His face changed a little.

      "Poor Reuben!" he said—then with the former look—"On the whole, perhaps it was well he did not come back. If you put those in water they will open their eyes to-morrow. Fresh water—not salt," he added as he followed her into the house,—"they are not part of the marine Flora."

      Tea was ready, with its usual cheer of eatables and pleasant faces; not quite with its usual flow of talk. Mrs. Derrick certainly had something bewildering on her mind, for she even looked at her guest two or three times when he was looking at her. The pond lilies were alone in the twilight parlour.

      That was probably the reason why Lucinda introduced Parson Somers into the tea-room, the parson happening to call at this identical time.

      Parson Somers was always in a genial state of mind;—always, at least, whenever he came into Mrs. Derrick's parlour; by the testimony of numbers it was the same in many other parlours. He came in so now; gave a smile all round; and took an empty chair and place at the table like one who found it pleasant.

      "Well, I declare, Mrs. Derrick," said Mr. Somers when he was seated,—"I don't think there's—a—a more cheerful room