So passed the days. Not indeed all at Kildeer river, but all in sweet,
peaceful, bright occupations, whether of work or play. The trustees had
received their notice, with much dismay; a little alleviated by the
fact that Mr. Linden was willing to stay at his post for a few weeks
after the end of the year.
It was almost a wonder, as the weeks went on, that Mr. Linden kept down
the shadows as well as he did,--to leave Faith in the morning, and go
to his devoted set of scholars--every one of whom had some particular
as well as general hold on him and love for him; and then to get away
by the hardest from their words and looks of sorrow and regret, and
come back to the presence of her brave little face--Mr. Linden was
between two fires. And they wrought a sort of deepening of everything
about him which was lovely or loveable--which did not make it easier
for Pattaquasset to let him go.
As far as anybody could be a help to him, Faith was one. In a
gentleness of spirit that was of no kin to weakness, she took to her
heart the good that she had, and was quite as much of a sunbeam as
ever. How it would be when Mr. Linden was gone, Faith did not know; but
she did know that that was one of to-morrow's cares, with which she had
no business to-day. If the thought ever came up in its strength, strong
enough to bring down her heart and head,--if there were times when
Faith shewed herself to herself--the revelation was made to no other
person. And therefore it is probable that it was a view she did not
often indulge in.
Dr. Harrison was not much at Pattaquasset these days He found it
convenient to be away.
Dr. Harrison was a man who did not like to throw away his ammunition.
He by no means absented himself because of any failing in his fancy for
somebody in Pattaquasset; the working of cause and effect was on a
precisely opposite principle. The truth was, the fancy had grown to a
strength that would not well bear the doubtful kind of intercourse
which had been kept up between the parties; yet doubtful it remained,
and must remain for the present. With Mr. Linden there in the family;
with the familiar habits that naturally grow up between hostess and
guest, friend and friend, fellow inmates of the same house--it was very
difficult for the doctor to judge whether those habits had any other
and deeper groundwork. It was impossible, with his scanty and limited
chances of observation. At the same time there was too great a
possibility--his jealousy called it more,--for him to be willing to
take any forward and undoubtful steps himself. He did not find sea-room
to put in his oar. In this state of things, all that his pride and his
prudence would suffer him to do, was to wait--wait till either by Mr.
Linden's stay or departure the truth might be made known. But to abide
in Pattaquasset and watch patiently the signs of things, was more than
Dr. Harrison's feeling,--for it was far more than fancy,--could bear.
Just now, in despair or disgust, he had taken a longer enterprise than
usual; and was very far indeed from Pattaquasset when the news of Mr.
Linden's going set all the country in a flame. So, greatly to Faith's
satisfaction, he could not for some time be there to add any flame of
his own.
The morning readings with Mr. Linden were great and chief treasures to
her all these days. She was always ready for him before six o'clock.
Not now in a firelit room, with curtains drawn against the cold; but in
the early freshness of the spring and summer mornings, with windows
open and sweet air coming in. Duly Faith noted every "ladder of
verses"--till her Bible grew to be well dotted with marks of red ink.
They looked lovely to her eyes. So they might; for they were records of
many very deep and sweet draughts from that well of water which the
word is to them that love it; draughts deeper and sweeter than Faith
could have drawn by herself--or she thought so. No quarter of an hour
in the day Faith loved so well. It was often more.
One morning the "ladder" began with the silver trumpets made for the
service of God in the hands of the priests of Israel. Faith, looking
quietly out of the window, went roving in thought over the times and
occasions Mr. Linden read of, when their triumphal blast had proclaimed
the name and the glory of God in the ears of the thousands of Israel;
times of rejoicing, of hope, of promise and of victory. Scenes of glory
in the old Jewish history floated before her--with the sublime faith of
the actors in them, and the magnificent emblematic language in which
they read the truth. Faith only came fairly back to New England and
Pattaquasset at David's declaration--
"Blessed are the people that know the joyful sound; they shall walk, O
Lord, in the light of thy countenance."
The words thrilled her. She thought of the many who had never heard the
sound at all; and entered into Isaiah's foresight of a day when "the
great trumpet shall be blown, and they shall come that were ready to
perish in the land of Assyria, and the outcasts in the land of Egypt."--
"How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth
good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good;
that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth!"
Then came Isaiah's own blast of the trumpet, and then the sweet
enlargements and proclamations of the gospel, and the Lord's own
invitation to all who are "weary and heavy laden." But also--
"How shall they call on him in whom they have not believed? and how
shall they believe in him of whom they have not heard? and how shall
they hear without a preacher? and how shall they preach, except they be
sent? as it is written, How beautiful are the feet of them that preach
the gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of good things!"--
"And the Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say,
Come. And let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him
take the water of life freely."
Faith sat by the open window, no sound abroad but the stir in the
leaves and the low music of birds. The very still peace without, rather
seemed to heighten and swell the moving of thoughts within, which
surged like the sea. Mr. Linden stopped reading and was silent; and so
was she, with nothing of all this appearing otherwise than in the
fixed, abstracted look which went out into Pattaquasset but also went
far beyond. And when she spoke, it was earnestly and with the same
clear quiet.
"Endy--I am _glad_ to have you go, for the reason you are going for. I
wouldn't have you be anything else than what you mean to be,--not for
the pleasure of having you here."
Her voice did not tremble, though indeed it told of feelings that were
less assured.
"Dear Faith!" Mr. Linden said, with a bright flash of pleasure at her
words, which changed even while he spoke, "you do not know what a
comfort it is to me to feel that! And do you realize, little Sunbeam,
what joy it is, that however far apart we can still work together--in
the same cause, for the same master? The work which I take upon me by
name, belongs as really to you,--for the call should be given by every
one that heareth to every one that is athirst."
"I know--" she said quietly. "How grand those words are you have been
reading!"
"Faith," Mr. Linden said presently, "have you any special attachment to
this particular little Bible?"
"I have my red notes in it," she said with a bright smile.
"I am not quite satisfied with the paper and type, for your eyes--by
firelight and twilight. Shall I break up any train of old association
if I send you another?"
She gave him a look of what Dr. Harrison might have called "compound
interest"; but assured him at the same time with sedate earnestness
that the one she had would do very well.
This was but a day or two before Mr. Linden's leaving Pattaquasset. He
had paid his many farewell visits before the last week came, and before
that, too, had given up his weekday scholars,--those last days were all
given to Faith. Given to her in every possible way--out of doors and
within; in that fair summer weather the open air was the best of all
places for talking, and the least liable to intrusion. It was a great
relief to get away from village sights and sounds to the still woods,
or the fresh shore,--it was a great help towards cheerfulness. And the
help was needed. Wherever Mr. Linden went, among people, he met nothing
but sorrow for his going away,--wherever he went, to house or woods, he
carried the deep-hidden double sorrow in his heart, which no one
guessed of all who so loudly bewailed his departure. Faith herself
perhaps hardly realized what his part of that sorrow was; but he knew
hers, and bore it--as one bears the trials of the dearest friend one
has on earth.
He was to go very early in the morning, but when the late evening talk
had impinged upon the night as much as it could be allowed to do, he
gave Faith the unexpected promise of coming down to read with her just
as usual next day.
It was very, very early this time, in the summer twilight dawn, when
the kildeers were in their full burst of matins, and all the other
birds coming in one by one. Faith did not say many words, but she was
as quiet as the hour. Then she went to the breakfast-room to arrange
and hasten matters there; and Mr. Linden followed, and stood watching
her--she did not know how,--she only knew how he talked.
But he took her into the sitting-room the moment breakfast was over and
stood by her, giving her the mute caresses he could not put in words.
And for words there was little time. The morning light came up and up
into the sky, the candles burned dim, as they stood there; and then he
bade her "'be perfect, be of good comfort,'" and so went away.