Say and Seal, Volume I

"Where is Sam?" she asked. "This is his day, isn't it?"

"He was here a minute ago," said his mother,—"I guess he ran off when he heard you coming. He takes fits of being bashful once in a while,—they don't last long. Your mother wasn't afraid to let you come with our horses, was she?"

"No ma'am," Faith said,—"not at all. But she hasn't got back her old trust in horses and carriages generally. I wish she had."

"I don't—" said Mrs. Stoutenburgh,—"they're not to be trusted generally, child. Has your horse got well yet?"

"Not well. Mr. Skip says he's better, but we can't use him."

"Well I wanted to talk to you about that—Mr. Stoutenburgh's been at me to do it this month. You know we've always got more horses on hand than we can use—and there's one of 'em that would just suit you. Won't you let him stand in your stable this winter?—and give Crab a chance."

"O no, Mrs. Stoutenburgh!—thank you!" said Faith. "I dare say Crab will get better—it won't be necessary; and you know we don't ride much in winter. You're very kind to think of it."

"There you are—as usual!" said Mrs. Stoutenburgh. "I'm always afraid to ask you anything, you keep such magnifying glasses. But now Faith, listen to reason. Not ride in winter!—why it's the very time for riding, if there's snow; and you could drive Jerry, or your mother could, just as well as Crab—he's as quiet as he can be. At the same time," said Mrs. Stoutenburgh with a little dance in her eyes, "if anybody else drives him, he can go a little faster."

"I'll tell mother how good you are, Mrs. Stoutenburgh. It isn't my business to give answers for her. But did you ever see me drive?"

"Not horses," said Mrs. Stoutenburgh laughing.

"Not anything else, I am sure? I used to want to go after the cows, but mother never would let me."

But whatever Mrs. Stoutenburgh meant she did not explain, for dinner was announced, and the Squire came up to take possession of Faith again; receiving his wife's little whispered "I've done it!" with all her own satisfaction.

In the dining-room Sam was at last visible, but the bashful fit had not gone off, and Faith's black silk was even more distracting than her white muslin. Her greeting of him was simple enough to have been reassuring.

"I hope you will be as happy a great many times as you are to-day, Sam," she said as she shook hands with him. "On the 29th of November, I mean."

Perhaps Sam thought that doubtful—perhaps impossible,—perhaps undesirable. At all events his words were few; and though he was permitted the post of honour at Faith's side, he did not do much for her entertainment at first.

The dinner itself, service and style and all included, was sufficiently like the Squire and his wife. Handsome and substantial, free, bountiful, and with a sort of laughing air of good cheer about it which more ceremony would have covered up. There was no lack of talk, either,—all the company having the ability therefor, and then, at least, the inclination. But if Mr. Linden now and then called Sam out of his abstraction, so did the Squire attack Faith; giving her a little sword play to parry as best she might.

"Miss Faith," he said, "do you know to what a point you are, day by day, winding up the curiosity of this town of Pattaquasset?"

"I, sir!" said Faith, apparently, by her eye and air, occupying the place of the centre of motion to all this curiosity;—the point of absolute rest.

"My dear," said the Squire, "they say two things about you! The first is that you never go out! Now don't trouble yourself to contradict that, but just tell me the reason. We're all friends here, you know."

"Why I go out very often indeed, Mr. Stoutenburgh!" said Faith.

"Didn't I tell you not to contradict me? Ah Miss Faith!—young ladies never will take advice! Well—the first thing is, as I said, that you never go out. The second," said the Squire laughing, "is—that you do!"

"Well sir," said Faith merrily,—"they can't both be true—and there isn't anything very bad about either of them. Nor very curious, either, I think."

"What I should like to know," said Mr. Linden, "is, who keeps watch at the gate?"

"Squire Deacon does, for one," said Sam promptly. "I see him there often enough."

"When you come to relieve the guard?" said Mr. Linden smiling. And the laugh was turned for the moment, rather to Sam's confusion.

"So that's what the Squire's come back for, is it?" said Mr.Stoutenburgh. "I thought somebody was to blame for his going away."

"Nobody was much to blame," said Mrs. Stoutenburgh.

"I had a long talk with Sam the other day—Sam Deacon, I mean," said the Squire, "and he was keen to get acquainted with Dr. Harrison. And as the doctor came along just then, I gave him a chance. I guess the doctor blessed me for it!—I did him. By the way, Miss Faith, I s'pose you've got acquainted with the doctor by this time?"

"Yes sir—very well—" Faith said quietly, though she felt the ground uneasy and unsafe.

"Well what sort of a chap is he?—up to anything besides running away with all he can lay his hands on?"

"Don't you know him, Mr. Stoutenburgh?"

"Can't say I do, Miss Faith,—it rather strikes me he's not anxious I should."

"How can he be anxious, sir, when you are not?" said Mr. Linden. "Isn't that expecting too much?"

The Squire laughed.

"I don't expect too much of him," he said,—"and don't you expect too little. After all, I'd as soon take a boy's mind as a man's—and he aint popular among the boys. I thought he would be, after that exhibition—but he aint."

Which remark Mr. Linden knew to be true, though he did not say so.

"Well, Mr. Stoutenburgh! if you don't like him why do you talk about him?" said his wife. "Faith—you can play blind man's buff, I'm sure?"

"Wait a bit,—wait a bit," said the Squire—"I'm not ready to be blinded yet, if she is. You ladies are always in such a hurry! Now Mr. Linden and I want to have our ideas cleared up. What sort of a man is the doctor, Miss Faith? You say you know him 'very well,'—do you like him 'very much'?"

This shot brought Faith to a stand and obliged her, to be sure, to 'shew her colours,' which she did bravely. Nevertheless she faced the Squire and answered steadily.

"I like him a good deal, Mr. Stoutenburgh—in some respects very much."

"Hum—" said the Squire, as he cut a persuasive piece of duck and put it on her plate. "Well wouldn't you like to tell me, my dear, what you mean by 'some respects'?—That's Mrs. Stoutenburgh's word, and I never could find out yet."

"I suppose it means different things in different cases," said Faith smiling.

"Did you ever?"—said the Squire, taking a general survey of the table, which began with Faith and ended with Mr. Linden, "Aint that half of creation up to anything? I tell you what, Miss Faith, if I'd been in that meadow 'tother day, I'd have made Mazeppa of the doctor in no time,—Sam hasn't learnt to put his history in practice yet. And besides," said the Squire, with a peculiarly slow, innocent enunciation, "he never likes to do anything that would displease Mr. Linden!"

"Mr. Stoutenburgh!" said his wife, though she was laughing merrily herself, "Can't you be quiet? Faith, why don't you answer me?"

"What, Mrs. Stoutenburgh?"—Faith turned towards her a face from which, gentle as it was, the smile had disappeared.

"You play blind man's buff, don't you, dear?"

"When I can," said Faith.

"The real question, Miss Faith," said Mr. Linden, whose grave unmoved look—unmoved unless by a little fear that she might be annoyed—would have been some help to her during her cross-examination if she had seen it,—"the real question is, whether you are willing to play to-night."

"I am as willing as can be," said Faith.

"I don't know whether they'll want to play it," said Mrs. Stoutenburgh, "but they may; and Sam's never content unless I'm in the fun, whatever it is."