Say and Seal, Volume I. Warner Susan

am in a bad way, then," said Mr. Linden with unmoved gravity. "Because if I survive this trial of what I can bear, I intend to advertise for the afore-named situation. Have you heard of any vacant pole, Miss Faith?"

      Faith looked at him with a grave, considering wonder, which gradually broke into a sense of fun; and then she laughed, as she did not often laugh.

      Apparently Mr. Linden was well enough pleased with such answer to his words, for he not only made no attempt to stop her, but even remarked that it was good to be of a sympathizing disposition.

      The day passed as usual; only of late it had got to be Faith's habit to spend a good deal of time shut up in her room. It had never been her habit before. But now, after going through her early household duties, of which Faith had plenty, she used to be out of sight often for an hour before dinner; unless when the dinner required just that hour of her attention. Nothing was left behind her to call her down. Her dairy, her bread and cake, her pies and cream-cheeses, her dinner preparations—whatever the things might be—were all ready for the day's wants; and then Faith was gone. After dinner it was still more surely the same. Yet though all this was true, it was so quietly and unobtrusively true that Mrs. Derrick had hardly observed it.

      It happened this afternoon that Faith lingered upstairs,—not until teatime, but until she heard her mother call. Reuben Taylor wanted to see her. He was at the gate.

      "I didn't want to disturb you, Miss Faith. I told Mrs. Derrick so. It's only some clams,—which I thought maybe you'd like," said Reuben modestly. "I left 'em in the kitchen."

      "Thank you, Reuben—I like them very much. Do you feel better than you did yesterday?"

      "Yes, ma'am—" said Reuben rather slowly,—"I felt a great deal better last night."

      "And to-day—don't you?"

      "Yes, ma'am," Reuben answered as before.

      "But not so well as last night? What's the matter, Reuben?"

      "Didn't you hear what they did last night, ma'am?"

      "To be sure I did, but what has made you feel worse to-day?"

      "Why you know, ma'am," said Reuben, "last night I forgot all about everybody but Mr. Linden. But oh Miss Faith! I just wish you could have been in school to-day for one minute!—when Mr. Linden came in! You see," said Reuben, excitement conquering reserve, "the boys were all there—there wasn't one of 'em late, and every one had a sprig of basswood in his hat and in his buttonhole. And we all kept our hats on till he got in, and stood up to meet him (though that we do always) and then we took off our hats together and gave him such a shout!—You know, Miss Faith," added Reuben with a smile both expressive and sweet, "basswood's a kind of linden."

      "And what did Mr. Linden do?" said Faith with a smile of her own that very well reflected Reuben's.

      "He didn't say much," said Reuben,—"he looked a good deal."

      "Well, you foolish boy," said Faith gently, "don't you feel well now, after all that? What's the matter?"

      A heavy, shoe-leathery step came down the street—it was Squire Deacon. Reuben knew who it was before the Squire came near, for he flushed up, and for a moment stood with his back resolutely turned towards the gate; then with an air as resolute, but different, he turned round and bowed as courteously as he knew how—far more so than the Squire did to him; for the combination of Faith and Reuben did not seem to fall pleasantly upon Squire Deacon's organs of vision; nor indeed could he have quite forgotten last night.

      "Reuben, come in," said Faith touching his shoulder and smiling,—"I want to speak to you. But first answer my question—why don't you feel quite well now? You ought, Reuben."

      "Yes, Miss Faith—I know I ought,—at least I oughtn't to feel just asI do," Reuben answered. "Mr. Linden told me so to-day."

      "Then why do you feel so?" Faith asked with increased earnestness.

      Reuben coloured and hesitated.

      "Folks vex me—" he said in a low voice. "And—and Mr. Linden says I love him too well if I'm not willing to let him go when God pleases. And I know it's true—but—" and Reuben followed Faith into the house without another word.

      "What do you mean about Mr. Linden's going?"

      "Just that, ma'am," said Reuben simply. "Because we can't make ourselves feel well by thinking things are going just as we want 'em to—he says that's not strong enough ground to rest on."

      "But does he talk of going away, Reuben?"

      "O no! Miss Faith I never heard him,—he only talked so to me because of what other folks said."

      "Well," said Faith with a change of tone, "you're a foolish boy. You come and see me whenever you get feeling bad again. Folks can't hurt Mr. Linden. Now look here—Wait a minute, will you!"—

      Faith ran upstairs; speedily came down again with a little blue-covered book in her hand.

      "Is this the arithmetic you study?" she said softly, coming close to him.

      Reuben took the book with some surprise in his face.

      "Yes, ma'am, this is the one." And he looked up at her as if to ask, what next.

      "How far have you gone?"

      "I am through this now," said Reuben, "but some of the others are here—and here."

      "Then you can tell me," said Faith. She turned over to a certain page, far on in the book too, and putting it into Reuben's hands, said quietly,

      "I am studying it, and I cannot make anything of this. Do you remember how it was explained?"

      "The book's wrong," said Reuben, after a glance at it,—"I remember, Miss Faith. See—it ought to be so—and so—" Reuben went on explaining. "All the books we could get here were just like it, and Mr. Linden said if he found any more mistakes he would send to Quilipeak and get good ones. He shewed us how this ought to be."

      "That's it!" said Faith. "Thank you, Reuben. And you needn't tell anybody I asked you about it."

      Reuben looked a little surprised again, but he said "No, ma'am," and made his bow.

      It was Faith's turn to be surprised then, for stepping into the tea-room to look at the clock, she found not only the clock but Mr. Linden,—the former ticking sundry minutes past teatime, the latter enjoying the sunset clouds and his own reflections, and (possibly) his book. Mrs. Derrick, favouring the atmosphere of the little wood fire, which had burnt itself out to coals and ashes, sat at one corner of the hearth, taking up the stiches round the heel of her stocking; which precarious operation engrossed her completely. Mr. Linden however looked up, and took in the whole of the little picture before him. Apparently the picture was pleasant, for he smiled.

      Faith's look was startled.

      "I am late!" she said with a compunctious glance at the clock. And as soon as it could be made the tea came in smoking. As Faith took her seat at the table she put her question.

      "When did you come in, Mr. Linden?"

      "About a quarter of an hour before you did."

      "By which way?"

      "Why!—by the door. It is simpler than the window."

      The next few seconds seemed to be employed by Faith in buttering bread and eating it, but in reality they were used for carrying on a somewhat hurried calculation of minutes and distances which brought the colour in her cheeks to a hue of pretty richness.

      "Did I run over anybody in my way?" asked Mr. Linden. "What gives the question its interest?"

      "I had thought you were out," said Faith quietly.

      "I know a shorter way to the store than you do," said Mr. Linden with equal quietness.

      "To the store!" said Faith, eye and lip quite putting quietness out of the question.

      "Yes, I found your footprints there the other day, and I have been wanting to tell you ever since that it is not anything like so far up to my room. Let me recommend that way to you for the future."

      Faith's