Say and Seal, Volume I

"You haven't answered me yet," he said smiling. "Why are they far apart?—your blue gentians there, are as far below the sky in number of miles—yet from them to the sky the transition is easy."

"Yes—" said Faith looking down at her blue gentian. "Why is it, Mr.Linden? But this is God's work too," she added softly.

"I suppose that is the deep root of the matter. The ruined harp of man's nature yet answers to a breath from heaven as to no other touch. Then blue has been so long the emblem of truth, that separated from truth one can scarce, as you say, realize what colour it is."

"Then Mr. Linden," said Faith after a moment's silence, with the tone and the look of quick pleasure,—"is this what you mean by 'reading' things?"

"Yes—" he said with a smile,

"'To rightly spell
Of every star that heaven doth shew,
And every herb that sips the dew.'"

"But how far can you read?" said Faith. "And I never thought of such reading till—till a little while ago! How far can you read, Mr. Linden?"

"I don't know," he said,—"because I don't know how far I cannot read! Yet if 'the invisible things of God' may be known 'by the things which are seen,' there is at least room for ample study. To some people, Miss Faith, the world is always (with the change of one adjective) an incomprehensible little green book; while others read a few pages now, and look forward to knowing the whole hereafter."

There was a pause, a little longer than usual.

"And you say I must not thank you?"—Faith said very low.

"I say I think you have no cause."

She was silent.

"Has the day been pleasant?" Mr. Linden asked, as they walked up and down.

"Yes, very pleasant. I liked what you didn't like, Mr. Linden—all that examination business. And I was very glad for Reuben and little Johnny."

"How do you know I didn't like it?"

"I don't 'know'—I thought you didn't," she said looking at him.

"You don't like to say why?"

"Yes! I thought you didn't like it, Mr. Linden, when Judge Harrison first proposed it. You wished he would give us the pleasure without the shewing off."

"Well, did you also know," he said with a peculiar little smile, "that one of my best scholars was not examined?"

"No—who do you mean?" she said earnestly.

He laughed, and answered,

"One who would perhaps prefer a private examination at home—and to whom I have thought of proposing it."

"An examination?" said Faith, wondering and with considerable heightening of colour, either at the proposal or at the rank among scholars assigned her.

"You need not be frightened," Mr. Linden said gravely—"if anybody should be, it is I, at my own boldness. I am a little afraid to go on now—though it is something I have long wanted to say to you."

"What is it, Mr. Linden?" she said timidly.

"I have thought—" he paused a moment, and then went quietly on. "You have given me reason to think, that there are other desirable things besides French of which you have no knowledge. I have wished very much to ask you what they are, and that you would let me—so far as I can—supply the deficiency." It was said with simple frankness, yet with a manner that fully recognized the delicate ground he was on.

The rush of blood to Faith's face he could see by the lamplight, but she hesitated for an answer, and hesitated,—and her head was bent with the weight of some feeling.

"I should be too glad, Mr. Linden!" she said at last, very low, but with unmistakeable emphasis.

"Then if you will let me see to-morrow what you are doing with that other little book, I will see what companions it should have." And warned by the kindling lamps on every side, he led the way a little more into the open lawn, that Faith might at least be found if sought. That allowed him to see too, the look he had raised in her face; the little smile on the lips, the flush of colour, the stir of deep pleasure that kept her from speaking. Yet when they had taken a few steps on the broad lawn and other people would soon be nearing them, she suddenly said, softly,

"What 'other' book do you mean, Mr. Linden?"

"I don't know how many there may be, Miss Faith, but I meant one which I tried to get at the store one day, and found that the last copy had passed into your hands."

"The arithmetic!" said Faith. "That was how you knew it.—There is Dr. Harrison looking for me!" she added, in a tone which gentle as it was would have turned that gentleman to the right about if he had heard it—which he did not—and if he had not been indifferent on the point of all such tones,—which he was.

"Stars shine by their own light!" said the doctor as he came up. "I have no need to ask, 'Where is Miss Derrick?' Your Quercus rubra there is brilliant at any distance, with a red gleam. You have Mars on your breast, and Hesperus in your eye! It is heaven on earth!"

Faith could not choose but laugh at the mixture of gallantry and fun and flattery in the doctor's manner, though his meaning was, to her, doubtful. Other answer she made none.

"And so," said Mr. Linden, "you make the stars shine by their own light, and Miss Derrick by the light of the stars!"

"Advances constantly making in the sciences!" said the doctor with a wave of his hand. "I dare say you are a better astronomer than I am;—I haven't kept up with the latest discoveries. But Mr. Linden, may I interfere with your heaven for a moment, and persuade these stars to shine, for that length of time, upon less favoured regions? With another revolution of the earth they will rise upon you again."

"I shall not persuade the stars for you," said Mr. Linden.

"I will endeavour so far," said the doctor turning to Faith. "I had the honour to offer to shew Miss Derrick the peculiar effect of Chinese lanterns in Pattaquasset—may I hope that she will allow me to fulfil my promise?"

He took possession of Faith, and with a graceful "Au revoir!"—to Mr.Linden, led her away.

The effect of the lanterns was very pretty, and to her eyes very curious. So were the lanterns themselves, be fore one and another of which Faith stopped and looked with charmed eyes, and the doctor nothing loth gave her charming details.

"After all, it is only child's play," he said as he turned away. "Why should we want Pattaquasset to look like China?"

"For one night?" said Faith.

"Well, for one night," said the doctor. "But you haven't got little feet on, have you?" said he looking down at the edge of Faith's white dress in mock alarm;—"I shouldn't like the transformation to go too far."

Faith laughed.

"Reassure me," said the doctor. "Nothing can be more unlike the Mongol type than the pure Circassian I have before me,—yet let me see the slipper. I want to be sure that all is right."

He persisted, and to stop the absurdity of the thing, Faith shewed him, not indeed her slipper, but the most un-Chinese, un-French, neat little shoe thick enough for walking, in which she had come to Judge Harrison's party.

"Alarmingly near!" said the doctor peering at it—"but the proportions are perfect. It is not Chinese. Thank you. I have seen so many odd things in my life, Miss Derrick,—and people,—that I never know what to expect; and anything right from head to foot, is a marvel."

They moved on again and sauntered round and round in the paths of the shrubbery, Faith hardly knew whither. In truth the doctor's conversation was amusing enough to leave her little care. Very few indeed were the words he drew from her; but with all their simplicity and modesty, he seemed to be convinced that there was something behind them worth pleasing; at least he laid himself out to please. He easily found that what she knew of life and the world was very little, and that she was very ready to take any glimpses he would give her into the vast unknown regions so well known to him. Always in his manner carelessly graceful, Faith never dreamed of the real care with which he brought up subjects, and discussed them, that he thought would interest her. He told of distant countries and scenes—he detailed at length foreign experiences—he described people—he gave her pictures of manners and customs,—all new to her ears, strange and delightful; and so easily yet so masterly given, that she took it all in an easy full flow of pleasure. So it happened that Faith did not very well know how they turned and wound in and out through the walks; she was in Switzerland and at Paris and at Rome, all the while.

She came back pretty suddenly to Pattaquasset. As they paused to watch the glitter of one of the lamps on the shining leaves of a holly tree, several of the boys, seeking their own pleasure, came sauntering by. The last of these had time to observe her, and swaggering close up under her face said, loud enough to be heard,