Say and Seal, Volume I

"I should—a little."

"Well aren't you a judge of character? Do you think he deserves to be called a rascal?"

But Squire Stoutenburgh prevented the answer. "I wish you'd just stop and let me catch up with you, Miss Essie," he said. "Now before we go any further, whoever said he was a rascal?—I didn't."

"Did you mean somebody else, Mr. Stoutenburgh?"

"That's the way you talk over pleasant things!" said the Squire. "If I hadn't hallooed after you, Miss Essie, I should have had a challenge from the doctor before morning—or a shot,—that's getting to be the fashion."

"Do you think Dr. Harrison is that kind of man?" said Miss Essie. "Mr. Linden, what kind of man do you think he is? You can tell better than the Squire, and I want to know."

"Miss Essie!—he is my friend and I am his,—you cannot expect me to give you Dr. Harrison's components—'each with its Latin label on'!"

"Not at all! but in general, how would you characterize him, if asked what sort of a man he was!"

"I should perhaps decline."

Miss Essie had no chance to push her question, for Sam came with a demand for Mr. Linden himself, which was at once obeyed.

A little while passed, and then Mr. Linden came back again; and walked composedly round to the back of Faith's chair. "Mrs. Stoutenburgh," he said, "will you let me take this lady away for five minutes?—Miss Faith, will you come?"

Nothing loth, if the truth must be told, Faith rose up to follow his leading; which was out of the parlour and through the hall.

"Miss Faith," he said as he shut the door, "have you been conjugating the verb s'ennuyer?"

"No," she said. "I was amused to hear you and Miss Essie talk."

"What singular ideas people have on the question of pleasant things!" said Mr. Linden. "Come in here, Miss Faith"—and he opened the door of a mingled library, study room, and office—"I want to give you (before we go any further) the whole quotation which I did not dare to give Miss Essie, though it would not have been meant for her, if I had." And he took down one of the books, and read—

"'Her eye,—it seems a chemic test,
And drops upon you like an acid;
It bites you with unconscious zest,
So clear and bright, so coldly placid;
It holds—you quietly aloof,
It holds, and yet it does not win you;
It merely puts you to the proof
And sorts what qualities are in you,' &c.

'There you are classified: she's gone
Far, far away into herself;
Each with its Latin label on,
Your poor components, one by one,
Are laid upon their proper shelf
In her compact and ordered mind,' &c.

'O brain exact, that in thy scales
Canst weigh the sun and never err,
For once thy patient science fails,
One problem still defies thy art;—
Thou never canst compute for her
The distance and diameter
Of any simple human heart.'

That's comforting doctrine—isn't it?" he said smiling as he put up the book.

"How good that is!" said Faith, as much in the spirit of enjoyment as of criticism. But it isn't just Miss Essie. It's more like"—She stopped.

"Well—who? No, it is not Miss Essie."

"I was going to say, Mrs. Somers—but it is not Mrs. Somers, either.She is more kind than that."

"Yes, I think so—though she keeps her kindness under lock and key, like her sweetmeats. Miss Faith, shall I give you a loophole view of those boys—before you venture yourself among them?"

She said yes, with a bright face that shewed her primed for any enjoyment, or anything else perhaps, he might propose. He knew the house, apparently, and led her out of one door and in at another, giving her little undertone remarks by the way.

"I know you and I agree in some of our notions about pleasant things," he said, "or I should not presume that you would find this one. To some people, you know, boys are mere receivers for Latin and Greek—to me they are separate little pieces of humanity. I study them quite as much as they do their lessons. Now you shall see them off their guard. This room is dark—but I know the way."

He took her hand as he spoke, and led her through the darkness to a spot of shaded light at the further end of the room, whence too came laughter and voices; then drew back the curtain from a sash door and let her look in.

It was pleasant, as he said,—the room was glowing with light, the boys in a knot about the fire; some sitting, some standing, one or two couchant upon the rug. Sam was the spokesman just then—the rest listening, interrupting, applauding; the flashing firelight shewing such different faces! such varied indications!—they looked like a little Congress of representatives.

"What are they doing, Mr. Linden? Sam is having a good time!—and all the rest of them for that matter."

"I am not quite sure what they are doing, Miss Faith,—Sam looks as if he might be recounting some of his own exploits—for the twentieth time."

"But Reuben, who never would recount one of his, is five times as much of a man."

"Yes,—I wonder what Miss Essie would say of the two, respectively. She means to study me to-night, you know," he said smiling—"and I mean she shall! There comes Mrs. Stoutenburgh—now I shall take you in."

Not by the sash door, but round again by another way they came upon the little company. Mrs. Stoutenburgh had been in before, and her reappearance had not made much change in the order of things; but when Faith came in every boy rose to his feet, and the admiring looks were only bounded by the number of eyes. They fell back right and left as she came on towards the fire; and once seated there in an easy chair, those who knew her came up to pay their respects—those who did not stood still and paid them at a distance, whispering and touching each other with,

"My! ain't she handsome!"—

All of which amused at least two of the lookers-on. One or two of the boys Mr. Linden brought up and presented. Faith however was presently out of her chair of state and wound in and out among them, speaking to those whom she knew or remembered at Neanticut. She was in a little gale of good-fellowship by the time Mr. Linden with Miss Essie returned to the room.

"Well!" said Miss Essie. "Now what's the first order of things? Mr.Linden, these are all your boys, I suppose?"

"These are all and not all, Miss Essie."

"Yes. Do they always do what you tell them?"

"They are extraordinary boys!" said Mr. Linden. "Not one of them has a will of his own."

"Oh!" said Miss Essie. "What has become of their wills? Have you stolen them? Now I am going to put that to the proof. Sam Stoutenburgh—you are not twenty years old yet, your mother says; have you a will of your own?"

"Mother says I have," replied Sam.

"Ah!—you see!" said Miss Essie. "You sir,—I know you but I don't remember you,—your teacher says you haven't a will of your own—now is it true? I want to know."