Say and Seal, Volume II

"Do you know, Endecott, these things would taste a great deal sweeter if your hand gave them?"

"I know nothing of the sort! Sweeter?—look at that urchin deep in peppermint candy,—could anything enhance the spice or the sweetness of that?"

"Yes," said Faith shaking her head—"and look at that little girl before him, who took the apple and looked at you all the while!"

"She has an eye for contrast," he said laughing, "and is probably wondering why all people can't look alike!"

Faith did not secretly blame her, but she left that subject.

It was to the furthest point of their round that they went now,—another fisherman's house—far, far off, on the shore. A little larger than Reuben's, but not so neatly kept; as indeed how could it be? with so many children,—or how could the house hold them, in those times of weather when they condescended to stay in! They were in pretty good order, to do their mother justice, and she in great delight at the sight of her visiters. There was no room for silence here—or at least no silence in the room, for Mrs. Ling was never at a loss for words. And there was no need of much circumlocution in presenting the turkey,—nothing but pleasure could come of it, let it enter on which foot it would; and the train of potatoes, and tea, and bread, and other things, fairly made Mrs. Ling's eyes shine,—though she talked away as fast as ever. The children were in spirits too great to be got rid of in any ordinary way, especially the youngest walking Ling; whose turn having not yet come for a pair of shoes from his father's pocket, was now to be fitted out of Mr. Linden's sleigh. And the shoes did fit—and little Japhet marked his sense of the obligation by at once requesting Faith to tie them. Which Faith did in a state of delight too great for words.

"Now what do you feel like?" she said, when Japhet was fairly shod and she still stooping at his feet.

"I feel like a king!" said Japhet promptly,—which had been the height of his unrepublican ambition for some time.

"Dear sakes!" said his mother, who had heard the child's request too late to interfere,—"I hope you'll not mind him, ma'am,—he oughter know better, but he don't. And poor things, when they gets pleased—it aint often, you see, ma'am, so I can't be hard upon 'em. Do you feel warm?—we do make out to keep warm, most times."

"I am quite warm, thank you; but I should think you'd feel the wind down here. Japhet,"—said Faith, who had brought in her basket of varieties and whose quiet eyes were fairly in a dance with fun and delight,—"which do you think kings like best—cookies or candy?"

To which Japhet with equal promptness replied,

"Candy—and cookies."

"Don't!"—his mother said again,—but the basket of varieties looked almost as wonderful to her eyes as to those of the children, who now gathered round as near as they dare come, while Mrs. Ling cautiously peeped over their heads.

"I see you feel like a king!" said Faith filling both Japhet's hands.—"There! now I hope you don't feel like Alexander."

"Alexander haint got nothin'!" said Japhet, looking towards his eldest brother.

Which did not overset Faith's gravity, because by this time she had none to speak of. Alexander's delight was found to be in red apples, and he thought a little common top a treasure such as neither Diogenes nor the real Alexander knew of between them! One little girl was made happy with a wonderful picture-book in which there were a dog, a cat, and a lion with a great mane just ready to eat a man up, with the stories thereto pertaining; and a neat little slate seemed a most desirable acquisition to the bright eyes of an older girl. They were all more satisfied than the conqueror of the world by the time Faith rose from the basket; and then she offered her tribute of gingerbread to Mrs. Ling. The little girl with the slate, once released from the spell of the basket, went up to Mr. Linden (who had stood looking on) and said,—"She's awake now, if you please, sir,"—and he turned and went into the next room, leaving Mrs. Ling to entertain Faith as best she might. For which Mrs. Ling was most ready.

"Ma always does want to see him"—she said. "You see, ma'am, she can't never get up now, so it's a play to hear somebody talk. And ma likes him special. Mr. Somers he's been kind too—and Mrs.—he come down when ma was first took, and since; but someways she don't just see into him much. I don' know but it's along of his bein' better than other folks—but after all, a person wants to have even good things talked to 'em so's they can understand. Now Mr. Linden,—my Mary there 'll listen to him for an hour, and never lose a word." And Mary's bright little eyes answered that readily, while Mrs. Ling's went back to the basket.

"I can't believe!" she said. "You don't know what you've done, ma'am! Why there aint one o' them children as ever see a real live turkey cooked, in their existence."

"You don't know what pleasure I had in doing it for them, Mrs. Ling.Mr. Linden told me there was a houseful of children."

"Well so there is!" said Mrs. Ling looking round the room,—"and it's no wonder he thinks so, for they tease him most out of his life sometimes when he's here,—or would if he wam't as good-natured as the day's long. But there aint one too many, after all said and done, for I've got nothing else,—so if it warn't for them I should be poorly off." With which reverse statement of the case, Mrs. Ling complacently smoothed down four or five heads, and tied as many aprons.

"Ma," said little Mary, "will Mr. Linden sing for us to-day?"

"I dare say—if you ask him pretty," said her mother. "No, I guess he's busy and won't be bothered."

"He never is bothered," said Mary persistently, while two or three of the others recovering from their apples and shyness, ventured up to Faith again and began to stroke her furs.

"What does he sing for you, Jenny?" said Faith, taking the little picture-book girl on her lap, and glad to put her own face down in a somewhat sheltered position.

"O he sings hymns—" said Jenny, gazing abstractedly at the lion and the cat by turns,—"and other things too, sometimes."

"Hymns are very interesting. And beautiful—don't you think so?" saidMary drawing nearer.

"Yes, indeed I do," said Faith stretching out her hand and pulling the little girl up to her. "What ones do you like best, Mary?"

But Mary's answer stayed, for Mr. Linden came back at that moment, and skilfully making his way up to Faith without running over any of the little throng, he told her he was ready. And Faith, though secretly wishing for the song as much as any of the children, set Jenny on the floor and rose up; while Mr. Linden laughingly shewed her "an excellent way of investing ten cents," by giving the children each one. Meanwhile Mrs. Ling had been emptying the basket. There was the cold turkey in the full splendour of its rich brown coat—a good large turkey too; but lest there should not be enough of it to go round to so many mouths, Mrs. Derrick and Faith had added a nice piece, ready boiled, of salt pork. Then there were potatoes, and some of Faith's bread,—and a paper of tea and another of sugar; and there was arrowroot, made and unmade, for the sick woman, with some broth jelly. It was one of those houses where a good deal was wanted, and the supply had been generous in proportion. Mrs. Ling was at her wits' end to dispose of it all; and the children watched her in a gale of excitement, till the last thing was carried off, and Mrs. Ling began to shake out the napkins and fold them up. But then they came round Mr. Linden with their petition, urging it with such humble pertinacity, that he was fain at last to comply. It was only a child's Christmas hymn, set to a simple, bright, quick tune, which at first kept some of the smallest feet in a greater state of unrest than the older children thought at all respectful.

"O little children, sing!
Jesus, your Lord and King
For you a child became:
On that bright Christmas day
He in a manger lay,
Who hath the one Almighty name!

"Come children, love him now,
Before the Saviour bow,
Give him each little heart.
His spotless nature see,—
Then like him spotless be,
And choose his service for your part.

"The joy of loving him
Shall never fade nor dim,—
While worldly joys fly fast:—
Jesus to see and love,
First here and then above,
Such joy shall ever, ever last.

"I'll give myself away
On this new Christmas day,—
He gave his life for me!
Jesus, my heart is thine,
O make it humbly shine
With ever-living love to thee!

"O Jesus, our Great Friend,
Our Saviour, without end
Thy praises we will bring!
Glory to God's high throne!
Peace now on earth is known,
And we for joy may ever sing!"

"There"—Mr. Linden said, breaking the hush into which the children had subsided, and gently disengaging himself from them,—"now I have given you something to think of, and you must do it, and let me go." And he and Faith were presently on their way; Faith feeling that she had "something to think of" too.

The sun was westing fast as they turned, but now their way lay towards home, via sundry other places. The long sunbeams were passing lovely as they lay upon the snow, and the fantastic shadows of Jerry and the sleigh and all it held, were in odd harmony and contrast. The poverty-stricken house to which the two had walked that memorable night, had been already visited and passed, and several others with sick or poor inhabitants. Then Mr. Linden turned off down one of the scarce broken by-roads, and stopped before a little lonely brown house with an old buttonwood tree in front.

"There is a blanket to go in here, Faith," he said as he took her out, "and also my hammer!—for there is always something to do."

"Always something to do at this house?"