Say and Seal, Volume I. Warner Susan

now and then made Reuben break into a low whistle of some tune or other, he always checked himself the next moment with a very apologetic look. For the rest, if he had not done all the work himself, it certainly was not his fault. Now, watching quietly the opening shells of that last dozen of clams, Reuben remarked,

      "I hope Mr. Linden won't forget about supper!"

      "Why what about it?" said Faith. "Why should he forget? or what if he does?"

      The last sentence seemed to puzzle Reuben.

      "I don't know, ma'am," he said,—"it's better before everybody eats it up."

      "Who's going to eat it up?" said Faith. "Where is he?"

      "He went down on the sands with me," said Reuben, "but he didn't come up again. Maybe he has now. He liked it down there, real well."

      Faith went to the shutter window and flung it open, and looked to see whether or no the missing gentleman had returned to the shore. It was a fair view that lay spread before her. The low beams of the sun gave a cool afternoon look to everything; the sloop sails shone and gleamed in the distance; down by the muscle rocks one little boat lay rocking on the advancing tide, which was fast covering the sand banks and connecting the strips of water; and the freshening breeze curled the little waves as they came dancing in, and brought a low sweet murmur to the shore. One or two gulls sailed floatingly about, and a brown mink—perceiving that the company had retreated to higher ground—came out and aired himself on one of the rocks.

      But Faith saw none of these things,—for in swinging open her shutter (which the wind caught and clapped up against the house) she so nearly swung it against Mr. Linden that her first look was a startled one.

      "Miss Faith!" he said, turning round, "what can you possibly be about!"

      "I beg your pardon, Mr. Linden!"—said Faith.

      "Is that all you are about?"

      "You were anxious about your supper, Mr. Linden—Are you ready for it?"

      "Much more ready than anxious, Miss Faith."

      "How do you like the shore to-day?" said Faith, dropping her voice, and giving a glance of her eye to the fair, cool sunlight colours on the water and shore and shipping—fresh as the very sea-breeze itself, and glittering as the water's thousand mirrors could make them.

      He turned and looked again, drawing in the breeze with a deep breath that more than answered her question.

      "How do you like this?" he said, handing her through the window a little miniature tree of red sea-weed. Then, while she examined it, he repeated,—

       "'When descends on the Atlantic

      The gigantic

      Storm-wind of the equinox,

      Landward in his wrath he scourges

      The toiling surges,

      Laden with sea-weed from the rocks;

        "'From Bermuda's reefs; from edges

      Of sunken ledges,

      In some far-off, bright Azore;

      From Bahama, and the dashing,

      Silver-flashing

      Surges of San Salvador;

        "'From the tumbling surf that buries

      The Orkneyan skerries,

      Answering the hoarse Hebrides;

      And from wrecks of ships, and drifting

      Spars, uplifting

      On the desolate, rainy seas;—

        "'Ever drifting, drifting, drifting

      On the shifting

      Currents of the restless main;

      Till in shelter d coves, and reaches

      Of sandy beaches,

      All have found repose again.'"

      Faith's eye was upon the sprig of sea-weed while these verses were repeating,—then she looked up at the speaker with an intenseness in which oddly mingled some strong feeling of sorrow or regret.

      "It's beautiful!"—she said,—"beautiful!—both the one and the other.But there are a great many things there I don't understand,"—she addedonce more with a smile. "If there was time—but there isn't.—Mr.Linden, Reuben and I have been roasting clams."

      "Yes, Miss Faith," he said answering the smile and stepping nearer the window. "So one of my senses informed me. Do you know what that is in your hand?"

      "It's sea-weed, isn't it?"

      "Yes. And moreover—Miss Faith, that is part of your marine Flora. Now what about the clams?"

      "My what?" said Faith. "First tell me, please, what you said."

      "Your marine Flora."

      "What is that?"

      "The particular department of life in the sea, of which this is a specimen."

      Faith looked puzzled, and amused.

      "You don't mean to enlighten me more than you can help," she said. "But why do you call it Flora? you used that word before. And oh Mr. Linden—You can't tell me now, for supper's all ready."

      His eyes looked amused too, and laying a clover head on the window, he said,

      "That is part of your land Flora,"—then pushed the shutter to rather quick, but softly; and Faith heard the reason thereof as follows.

      "Wal sir—ef this be you, I've looked all over for you."

      "How was it that you overlooked me then, sir?" was Mr. Linden's reply.

      "Don't jes know," laughed Jem Williams,—"but Miss Cilly Deacon wants you the worst kind."

      "And where shall I go to receive her commands?" said Mr. Linden.

      Faith heard their retreating steps, and turning to take off her apron saw the dish of hot clams still on the stove, and that Reuben had removed himself outside the door, quite beyond the conversation but not beyond call. He stood looking thoughtfully out towards the muscle rocks.

      "Oh Reuben! there you are. Come!" said Faith; "you're going in with me. You're going to have some supper to-night, whoever else does. You open the door, and I'll take in this dish. You keep by me, Reuben."

      "Please let me take the dish, then, Miss Faith,—I can open the door first."

      But Faith had her own way, and followed by Reuben carried the clams into the supper room, where some of the company were already seated, and others stood waiting. Squire Deacon had not only given the desired introduction, but had (self-denyingly) placed Mr. Linden next Miss Cilly at the table,—where he stood.

      "Here's a contribution," said Faith,—"if somebody 'll make a place for it. Thank you, Mr. Deacon. Now Reuben,—come here."

      And refusing more than one offer of a place at the table, Faith made her way down to the 'well end' where there was room for two—at a remote distance from the tea and coffee.

      What else was there not, upon that table!

      "Won't you take a seat, Mr. Linden?" said Miss Cecilia. "I hope you've got room there. Jerushy, can't you shove down a little? I hope my coffee-pot's not disagreeable."

      "I hope not!" said Mr. Linden, surveying the coffee-pot. "How long does it take to declare itself, Miss Deacon?"

      "O it won't do anything, but spout coffee," said the young lady,—"if you don't mind that. Won't you be helped to what you like, Mr. Linden? I hope you have enjoyed our shore party this afternoon."

      "Thank you"—said Mr. Linden, feeling perhaps that it was not their party he had enjoyed,—"there has been a combination of pleasant things. As far as I could judge the bathers enjoyed their particular expedition."

      "O yes, it was delightful—invigorating. Mr. Simlins, I think Mr. Linden will like a piece of that cherry-pie with his clams. Do you take cheese,