Say and Seal, Volume I

Faith gravely submitted, not letting the Squire however get any further than her cheek; which ought to have contented him.

"Sam was very good to me yesterday, sir," she answered.

"I think, Squire," said Mr. Somers, "your son was—a—in luck, as we say. A fortunate chance! What most people would have thought no—a—disagreeable office."

"Sam's a good boy—" said his father,—"a very good boy—always was. He does crow a little over Dr. Harrison, I must say. But what shall we do with the doctor, Mr. Somers?—what does he deserve for running away with our Pattaquasset roses and turning them into meadow lilies? Yes, yes, Miss Faith—you may look as pink as you please now—it won't help the matter. What shall we do with him, sir? My dear," said Squire Stoutenburgh seating Faith by his side and dropping his voice, "you're growing wonderfully like your father!"

A changed, sweet glance of Faith's eyes answered him.

"Yes!"—the Squire repeated meditatively and looking at her.—"Ah he was a fine man! I used to think he couldn't be better—but I s'pose he is now. My dear, you needn't wonder when I tell you that I thought more of your mother last night than I did of you. But you don't remember all about that. Well—I shall go home and tell Mrs. Stoutenburgh that you're as pretty as a posie, and then she won't care what else is the matter," he said, getting up again. "Mrs. Somers, I see the parson durstn't say a word about Dr. Harrison before you."

"I—I declare I don't think Dr. Harrison is very much to be blamed, Squire," said the parson thus called upon. "And Mrs. Somers is so well able to speak for herself—I have no doubt, Squire Stoutenburgh, if it wasn't for Mrs. Somers,—I dare say I might like to do as much as the doctor did, myself!"

"Bless my life!" said Squire Stoutenburgh, "I can't stay to be a party to confidences of that sort!—I must go!—" and he departed, laughing and followed by the two others.

But even as they went, Faith, who with her mother had accompanied them to the door, was electrified somewhat doubtfully at the vision of Miss Deacon just within the gate. Miss Cecilia came forward, also with some doubt upon her spirit, to judge by her air. But Faith's greeting of her was so pleasant and kind, though she could not prevent its being grave, that the young lady evidently took heart. Being reassured, she sat and talked at leisure, and at length, using her eyes as well as her tongue; thus making herself mistress of all the truth she could get at, and of some more. She was thorough in her investigations as to all the drama of the last seven days, and all and each of the actors therein; and at the close of her visit declared that "Sam had been a great fool to go away, and that she had told him so before"; and departed at last with her head full of Dr Harrison.

But detentions were not over. Miss Bezac came before Miss Deacon was quit of the parlour; and before Miss Bezac had been two minutes there, other members of the Pattaquasset community came pouring in. Everybody must see Faith, hear particulars, discuss realities and possibilities of the accident, and know how Mr. Linden was getting along. The hours of the afternoon waned away; but people came as people went; and it was not till long shadows and slant sunbeams began to give note of supper time, that the influx lessened and the friends gathered in Mrs. Derrick's parlour began to drop away without others stepping in to take their place.

"Faith," said her mother when they were at last alone, "I can't bear this any longer! I shall go crazy if I hear that story one other time to-night!" And she put her arms round Faith, and leaned her head wearily on her shoulder. "I'll sit up to tea," she went on presently, "and then if the rest of the town comes, you'll have to see 'em—for I can't!"

Faith gently put her into a chair and holding her in her arms stooped over her. "Mother"—the words were as soft as the kisses which came between,—"you mustn't mind it so much. Sit up to tea! Why I have made some of the best muffins that ever were seen."

"Child!" said her mother in a low voice, "I felt this morning as if I had been as near death as you had!"—and if the words needed any emphasis, they had it in the way Mrs. Derrick leaned her head against Faith and was silent. But not for long. She got up, and kissing Faith two or three times, said, "My pretty child!" in a tone that indeed told of possible heartbreak; and then half holding her, half held by her, drew her on into the tea-room.

CHAPTER XXVII

It so happened that the first griddleful of muffins did not do credit to their raising—(or to their bringing up, elegant reader!)—therefore Mr. Linden's teatray waited for the second. Of course the other tea waited too. Mrs. Derrick walked out into the kitchen to see what was the matter with the griddle; Faith discovered that one spoon on the tray looked dull, and went to the spoonbasket to change it. Thus occupied, and giving little reprehensive glances at the spoons generally, and mental admonitions to Cindy, with the open closet door half screening her from the rest of the room, she was startled—not by the opening of another door, but by these words,—

"Miss Faith, shall I carry this tray upstairs?"

To this day it is uncertain what sort of a spoon Faith brought back!—or indeed whether she brought any at all. There was one flash of gladness in her cheek and her eye, with the exclamation, "Mr. Linden!"—then she came from the closet just her old little self.

"Are you well enough to be down stairs, sir?"

"In whose estimation, ma'am?"

"Because if you are, Mr. Linden," she said with a face of laughing pleasure, "won't you please come into the other room?"

"I think not," he said, laughing a little too,—if the exertion of coming down had made him pale, the pleasure partly concealed it. "I will take a chair here, if you please. Am I alone, of all Pattaquasset, to be forbidden to pay my respects to you to-night? Miss Faith, how do you do?"

"I am very well. But Mr. Linden, if you will please come into the other room, there is an easy chair there. Please do! this room is cold, for the fire got down while we were seeing people."

She led the way as she spoke, without waiting for another denial; pushed the table and a great chair of state, or of ease, in the sitting-room, into closer neighbourhood; and renewed the brilliancy of the fire. Then lit up the lamp and cleared books away from the table; all done with quick alacrity.

"That will do almost as well as the couch, won't it?" she said; and then repeated in gentler tones her question, "Are you well enough to be down, Mr. Linden?"

"I don't know, Miss Faith!—I am well enough to want to be down. How can you let the charms of society divert your mind from your books for a whole afternoon? Have you been so studious for the last few days only because you had nothing else to do?"

She laughed at the question, and went off, leaving Mr. Linden in a region of comfort. More comfort came soon in the shape of the teatray, borne by Cindy; then Mrs. Derrick; and lastly Faith herself appeared—bearing a plate of the muffins, perfect this time, and delicate as they had need to be for a delicate appetite. Mr. Linden was presently served with one of these and a cup of smoking tea; and Faith thought, and her look half said it, that being down stairs would do him no harm. Certainly the surprise and pleasure of such company to tea did Mrs. Derrick good, whoever else missed it; though it is presumable no one did. The pleasant sighing of the wind round the house and in the chimney (it sighed alone for that evening) the sparkling of the fire, the singing of the maple or hickory sticks, the comfortable atmosphere of tea and muffins diffused, like the firelight, all through the room; gave as fair an assemblage of creature comforts as need be wished; and the atmosphere of talk was as bright, and savoury, and glowing too, in its way; though the way was quiet. Mr. Linden amused himself (and Faith) by giving her little lessons in the way she would have to talk in those French "noonspells" she had in prospect: making Mrs. Derrick laugh with the queer sounding words and sentences, and keeping Faith interested to that point, that if he had not attended to her tea as well, she would scarce have got any.

"I shall not be hard upon you at first," he said smiling,—"when I see you sitting in silent despair because you want something at my end of the table, I will help you out with a 'que voulez-vous, mademoiselle?' and perhaps with a 'voulez-vous?' this or that. But after a week or two, Miss Faith, if you go without any dinner, it will not move me in the least."

Faith looked as if she would gladly forego her dinner to escape the French asking for it, and yet not quite so neither. But this ordeal was more terrible to her by far than all the rest; she could face them, indeed, they had ceased to be anything but pleasure—or pleasure with a spice that enhanced it; but at this she trembled. To the above speech—or threat,—she simply answered,

"I shall be so glad to see you come home to tea, Mr. Linden!"

"And so glad to see me go away from dinner!"

"I didn't say that."

"You will—" said Mr. Linden,—"I can imagine you falling back in your chair and exclaiming, 'Ah, quand voulez-vous partir, monsieur!'—which of course will make it extremely difficult for me to remain a moment longer."

"I don't think you can imagine me doing it," said Faith laughing. "I can't imagine myself."

"That proves nothing. Only don't ever say to me, 'Monsieur! partez à l'instant!'—because—"

"Because what, Mr. Linden?" said Faith seriously.

"Because we might disagree upon that point," he said with rather a demure arch of his eyebrows. Faith's full silver rang out, softly.

"You see!" she said. "It's beginning already. I don't know in the least what you are talking about!"

"No—you do not," was the laughing reply. "But Miss Faith, if I am kept at home long enough, and society keeps at home too, instead of coming between us and our exercises, those conversations will seem less terrible by the time they begin. I should certainly get you a pocket dictionary, but I prefer to be that myself. How far can you ride on horseback at once?"

"On horseback?" said Faith, much as if those words had been alsoFrench, or an algebraical puzzle.

"That was what I said."

"I know that was what you said—I didn't know what you meant, Mr. Linden. I have never been really on horseback but a few times in my life—then I rode a few miles—I don't know exactly how many."

"I wonder people don't do it more"—said Mrs. Derrick. "When I was a girl that was the common way of getting about; and nobody ever got thrown, neither."

"Wouldn't that be the pleasantest way of getting to Mattabeeset?" saidMr. Linden.

An illumination answered him first; then "Oh, yes!"

"I want you to see what is to be seen over there," he said,—"shall we go some day, if I get well enough before cold weather?"

Faith's quiet words of agreeing to this proposal were declared to be a sham by her eyes, cheeks, lips and brow, every one of which was giving testimony after a different fashion.

At this moment the door opened. It happened that Dr. Harrison had encountered Cindy at the hall door, where she was either loitering to catch snatches of indoor conversation, or waiting to entrap Jem Waters. But there she was, and being asked for Mr. Linden replied that he was down stairs, and without more ceremony ushered the doctor in; and entering the whole view lay before him in its freshness. Mrs. Derrick, complacent and comfortable, sat behind the no-longer-wanted tea-tray, listening and playing with a spoon. Faith's face, though considering her unfinished muffin, was brilliant with rosy pleasure; while the fire which she had for some time forgotten to mend, lay in a state of powerful inaction, a mass of living coals and smoking brands. In the glow of that stood the easy chair, and therein Mr. Linden, although with the air and attitude of one wanting both rest and strength, was considering with rather unbent lips no less a subject than—One and Somewhat!—further the doctor's eyes could not read. The precise direction of those other eyes was shaded. The doctor came up and stood beside them.

"Did I order you to stay up stairs?" he said in soft, measured syllables, without having spoken to anybody else.

"Good evening, doctor!" said Mr. Linden offering his hand. "As I meet you half way, please excuse me for keeping my seat."

From that hand, the doctor passed to Faith's; which was taken and held, just enough to say all he wished to say; which, be it remarked in passing, was a good deal.