Say and Seal, Volume I

"Is there anything further you would like to say on any subject, sir?"

"Not much, I guess, if that's the time o' day," said Squire Deacon looking at him with a queer little bit of a smile. "'Taint useful to get stirred up that way, doctor, just because a man wishes you a good journey. But I can just as easy wish you another overturn—I s'pose you're pretty sure to get one or t'other out o' the horses. It's all one to me—and I dare say it is to everybody else."

"What is your name, sir?" said the doctor standing and looking at him in a sort of mazed consideration.

"My name's Sam Deacon,"—said the Squire with his peculiar sort of sullen composure. "Your father and I've always been friends, anyhow."

"Then Mr. Deacon will you have the goodness to under stand that I am not an agent for the transaction of Mr. Linden's affairs; but as I am a friend of his, I will inform him that you are interested in the subject. That is all, sir?"

"I'll go bail for the first part of that!" said Squire Deacon. "But it's your affairs I'm talkin' of—not his'n. And I s'pose I've as good a right as all the rest of Pattaquasset—and give no offence, neither. I was goin' to make you my compliments, doctor—that's all; and if you don't think you'll ever want 'em, why there's no harm done—and enough said. All I want to know is, what do you get so stirred up for?"

"Is that all?" said the doctor, as if he had a mind to know the whole before giving an answer.

"All what?" said Squire Deacon.

"All that you wish to communicate?"

"I haven't communicated anything yet," said the Squire. "I guess you knew all that before."

"Well," said the doctor, half laughing, though his expression had changed more than once during the last five minutes,—"then my answer is easy. In the first place, Mr. Deacon, I have no affairs—therefore it is impossible to talk about them. In the second place, when I am in want of your compliments I will send you mine. In the third place,—I declare I am at a loss how to answer you; for the only thing I ever get stirred up for, is my breakfast! Good afternoon!—"

Staying no more civilities, the doctor made the best of his way to Mrs. Derrick's. Faith was ready for him, and more gently with her he set out on the road back again. It was not a time of day to meet people—one familiar face however they did meet,—Squire Deacon. His eye did not seek Faith's face, but rested on the doctor with full effect.

Arrived at the Judge's house, the doctor led her to the library, and there unlocked the door of a little cabinet room. On a table in the window, standing in the full sunshine, was the object of their visit. It was simply a fine little Aquarium. More delightfully new to Faith's eyes nothing could be; as the same eyes shewed. While they explored the wonders of the box, the doctor at his ease proceeded to unfold to her the various meanings of them. He enlarged upon the habits and characters of the several inmates of the Aquarium; he explained to her the philosophy of keeping the balance of vegetable and animal life and thereby preserving both; he told which creature lived upon which other; what office they severally, some of them, performed for the small section of Ocean in which they lived and its vitrified shores; and then taking up the subject of Sea anemones, the doctor told stories, of natural truth, that with these living specimens before her entranced Faith out of all knowledge of place or time. Dr. Harrison asked no more. He gave her what she liked, and with admirable tact abstained from putting himself forward; any further than a quick eye, excellent speech, and full and accurate mind must make themselves known, and most gentle and graceful attention make itself felt.

"Do you suppose," said he, when Faith was absorbedly watching theAnemones feed,—"that Mrs. Derrick would give this thing house-room?"

Faith looked, but half comprehending.

"I am not always here," said the doctor carelessly, as he was supplying another bit of flesh to the voracious flower,—"and I should like to have it somewhere that it would be taken care of. If I left it to Sophy for a week, I should expect to find on my return that the vegetables and fishes had eaten up each other. Don't you admire that crab?"

"Very much," said Faith. "This little fish is just like some of the shells down on the shore."

"He came from the shore somewhere," said the doctor,—"little monster!The ocean world isn't much better than the world of earth, apparently,Miss Derrick."

"Do you think the earth-world is like that?" said Faith.

"Don't you?"

"I don't know what it is like."

"If you will permit me to say so, I hope you never will—any further than as you choose to make this a miniature of that. And things in miniature—are much less," said the doctor abstractedly, looking at the Anemone. "Would you like to have this little ocean box in your house for awhile, Miss Faith?—it could just as well as not. Indeed it would be rather a benefit to me."

"O I should like it!" said Faith. "But I should be afraid of its getting broken, Dr. Harrison."

"I am not afraid," said he. "It would be in less danger there than here. As I told you, Sophy neither knows nor cares anything about such things; and she would either kill them with kindness or forget them altogether—most likely do both alternately. But with you they would be safe, for the simple reason that you love them."

The sunbeams had left the window before Faith was at all aware of the passing away of the afternoon. And then, for once to her joy, Miss Harrison could not be found. They set out to walk home, and had got half way when a little rush of footsteps came up behind them, and Reuben and Sam passed by, arm in arm; or rather half by—then paused and said good evening.

"O have you seen Mr. Linden to-night, Dr. Harrison?" said Sam.

"Good evening, sir!" said the doctor. "Have I the honour of knowing you?"

"I should think you might," said Sam, in a tone not at all displeased—"but it don't signify much. Have you seen him to-night, doctor?"

"I should think I might, too," said Dr. Harrison looking coolly over the "young giant." "Allow me to observe, that 'to-night' is not come yet."

"Did you ever!" said Sam in an aside to Reuben, who had stood perfectly still without speaking. "Well any time since he got home then, sir?"

"No, sir."

"Have you, Miss Faith?" said Reuben.

"No, Reuben—I am just going home. What's the matter?"

"Why he fainted in school—that's all," said Sam,—"he said there was nothing the matter. Only we were going down to see how he got home, and I thought maybe the doctor might tell us first." And not staying for more words the two boys walked on a few steps, then set off and soon ran themselves out of sight.

The other two quickened their walk, the doctor moderating his steps however to suit the strength of his companion. But she soon took the lead, and Mrs. Derrick's house was reached in as short a space of time as the ground might be travelled without a speed which Faith did not dare assume.

There was nothing alarming in the little parlour. Mrs. Derrick sat knitting; Mr. Linden had been reading, but now was talking—half laughing, half chiding—with the two boys who stood before him. Reuben stood silent, smiling a little; Sam's energy was at work.

Faith came in quietly, with a face to which all her quick walk had not brought back the colour. She said nothing. But the doctor's tongue was free.

"Why what's this, Linden?"

"This is—Linden," said that gentleman coolly. "No boys—go off,—I think I can live without seeing either of you again till to-morrow. What's the matter, Dr. Harrison?"

"Just and precisely what I was asking," said the doctor; while Faith glided to her mother and sitting down by her whispered enquiry. But Mrs. Derrick knew nothing—had heard nothing, apparently.

"It's for you to state the case—" said Mr. Linden. "You speak as if you had a warrant of arrest in your pocket."

"Why!" said the doctor, standing and looking down upon him,—"here's a wind that has blown from nowhere! Do you want me to lodge information against yourself?"

"I don't wish to lodge any."

"Linden," said the doctor changing his tone to one of serious kindly interest, while Faith's eyes from her more distant seat waited for the answer,—"what is the matter? What made you faint to-day?"

"What nonsense have those boys been talking?" said Mr. Linden—but his look carried the charge a little beyond the range of his words. "I was faint for awhile—not quite in a 'deadly swoond,' however."

"That young scapegrace said and declared you had fainted."

"They are so used to their own red cheeks, they think red is 'the only colour,'" said Mr. Linden. "However, I believe he spoke true—but it was nothing worth speaking of, after all."

"What was the cause?"

"I presumed a little upon the successful way in which I got through yesterday—tried to do a little too much to-day, had one or two things to try me—and so. Which of my boys do you honour with that title of scapegrace?"

"You mustn't do so again," said the doctor seriously.