Things were yet in their morning light and shadow when Faith set off on
this her first real journey with Mr. Linden. She felt the strangeness
of it,--in the early breakfast, the drive alone with him to the
station,--to stand by and see him get her ticket, to sit with him alone
in the cars (there seemed to be no one else there!) were all new. The
towers of Quilipeak rose up in the soft distance, shining in the
morning sun: over meadow and hillside and Indian-named river the summer
light fell in all its beauty. Dewdrops glittered on waving grain and
mown grass; labourers in their shirt-sleeves made another gleaming line
of scythe blades, or followed the teams of red and brindled oxen that
bowed their heads to the heavy yoke. Through all this, past all this,
the Pequot train flew on towards Pattaquasset; sending whole lines of
white smoke to scour the country, despatching the shrill echoes of its
whistle in swift pursuit.
Faith saw it all with that vividness of impression which leaves
everything sun-pictured on the memory forever. In it all she felt a
strange "something new;"--which gave the sunlight such a marked
brilliancy, and made dewdrops fresher than ordinary, and bestowed on
mown grass and waving grain such rich tints and gracious motion. It was
not merely the happiness of the time;--Faith's foot had a little odd
feeling that every step was on new ground. It was a thoughtful ride to
Pattaquasset, though she was innocently busy with all pleasant things
that came in her way, and the silveriest of tones called Mr. Linden's
attention to them. He did not leave her thoughts too much chance to
muse: the country, the various towns, gave subject enough for the
varied comment and information Faith loved so much. Mr. Linden knew the
places well, and their history and legends, and the foreign scenes that
were like--or unlike--them, or perhaps a hayfield brought up stories of
foreign agriculture, or a white sailing cloud carried them both off to
castles in the air. One thing Mr. Linden might have made known more
fully than he did--and that was his companion. For several times in the
course of the morning, first in the station at Quilipeak, then in the
cars, some friend or acquaintance of his own came to greet or welcome
him. And Faith could see the curiosity that glanced at so much of her
as her veil left in view,--Mr. Linden saw it too, with some amusement.
And yet though all this was a little rouging, it was interesting to her
in another way,--shewing her Mr. Linden as she had never seen him,
among the rest of the world,--giving her little glimpses of his former
life; for the bits of talk were sometimes quite prolonged.
"Mignonette," he said after one of these occasions, "some people here
are very anxious to make your acquaintance."
"I am glad you don't want to gratify them."
"Why?--In the first place, I do."
"Do you!"--said Faith, somewhat fearfully.
"Certainly. I, like you, am 'a little proud of my carnations'. How do
you like this way of travelling?"
"I like it such a morning as this," said Faith. "I don't think it's the
pleasantest. But to-day it's delicious."
"Yes--to-day," he repeated. "What way of travelling do you like best?"
"You know I never travelled at all, except to Quilipeak and Pequot. I
believe I like a wagon or a sleigh better than this,--in general."
"That is our last whistling post!" said Mr. Linden "Faith, I shall be
glad to get rid of that veil. And I have so many things to say to you
that cannot be said here. Is Mr. Somers in Pattaquasset still?"
"Everybody's there--" Faith answered.
The little shake of the head with which this intelligence (so far as
regarded Mr. Somers) was received, Faith might understand as she
pleased, for in another minute they were at the Pattaquasset station;
the train was puffing off, and she standing there on the platform with
Mr. Linden. A little way back was Jerry and the wagon--that Faith saw
at a glance; but there too, and much nearer, was Squire
Stoutenburgh--in doubt whether to handle the new corners separately or
together, in his great delight.
From all this Mr. Linden rescued Faith with most prompt skill; carried
her off to the wagon, shook hands with Dromy and dismissed him, and
then with the reins in his own hands had her all to himself once more.
And Jerry dashed on as if he knew his driver.
"Mignonette, please put back your veil," were the first words. Which
Faith did, and looked at him, laughing, blushing and a little shy, all
in one pleasant combination.
"What have you been doing to make yourself lovelier, little Sunbeam?"
"I have been a year without seeing you,"--said Faith with excellent
seriousness.
"My presence seems to have no counteracting effect. By the same rule, I
should be--marvellous! To you perceive it?"
Her eye gave one of its little flashes, but Faith immediately looked
away.
"Do you know," said Mr. Linden, "I can hardly believe that this year of
exile is over--and that there are none others to follow it. What do you
suppose will be the first subject you and I shall consider?"
"Mr. Skip," said Faith gravely.
"Mr. Skip merits no consideration whatever. Is Miss Bezac at work on
that dress?"
"Because he don't live with us any longer, Endecott."
"Does he not?--Unfortunate man!"
"And Dromy is in his place."
"My dear, my own place is the only one I can think of with any intense
interest. Except yours."
"Because we have had no farm to manage this winter," said Faith; "so
Dromy could do what we wanted."
"I am glad to hear it," said Mr. Linden,--"he never used to be able to
do what I wanted. Who has managed for you? Mr. Simlins? And has Mr.
Skip gone off in a pumpkin with Cinderella? Faith, there is the door
where I had the first sight of you--my Rose of delight!" he added
softly, as if all the days since then were passing through his mind in
sweet procession.
Faith was silent, for she too had something to think of; and there was
no more time to finish either train of conversation that had been
started. Both dropped, even before Jerry drew up at the gate; and if
she had not gained one object she had the other.
By this time it was about eleven o'clock. It was rarely very hot in
Pattaquasset; and now though under a sunny sky there were summer
breezes rustling in the trees. Both mingled in Faith's senses with the
joy of going into that house again so accompanied. That gladness of
getting home in a pleasant hour! No one was in the cool
sitting-room--Faith pushed open the door between and went into the
eating-room, followed by Mr. Linden. There was Mrs. Derrick; and what
of all things doing but _doing up_ some of Faith's new ruffles! It was
a glad meeting,--what though Mrs. Derrick had no hand to give anybody.
Then she went to get rid of the starch, and the two others to their
respective rooms. But in a very few minutes indeed Faith was by her
side again.
"Mother--has Cindy come?"
"She's coming to-morrow, child. But there's not much to do for
dinner,--_that_'s all under way."
Faith bared her arms and plunged into dairy and kitchen to do all that
her mother characterized as "not much," and a little more. When every
possible item had been cared for--the strawberries looked over--the
cream made ready--the table set--the lettuce washed--the dishes warming
for the vegetables--the pickles and bread on the table--and Faith had
through all this delighted Mrs. Derrick as much as possible with her
company, sight and presence at least,--for Faith's words were a trifle
less free than usual;--when it was all done and the eating-room in a
state of pleasant shady summer readiness, Faith went "ben," as they say
in Scotland. She came into the sitting-room, as quietly as usual, and
coming up to Mr. Linden laid a hand on his shoulder.
"My own dear little Mignonette!--Do you feel less afraid of me, now I
am here?"
She hesitated to answer at first, then spoke with a very dainty shy
look--"I don't think I ever had fear enough of you to hurt anything."
"See that you do not begin now! What have you been about, all these
long months? You were as chary of details as if I had no right to them."
Faith looked gravely out of the window before she said, "I have not
been studying this year, Endecott." There was so clearly some reason
for it, that Mr. Linden's first thought was one of anxiety.
"What has been the matter?"
"You know I told you Mr. Skip had gone away?"
"Yes."
"And that he went because we hadn't any farm to manage?"
"What has the farm to do with your studies?"
"What shall I do if I make you very angry with me?" said Faith, the
least touch of seriousness mingling with her words,
"You had better ask what I shall do. Has Mr. Deacon come back and taken
possession?"
"Yes--And you know, Endy, we used to live by the farm. When that was
gone we had to live by something else. I wouldn't tell you if I could
help your knowing it."
"Mignonette, what have you been doing?"
"You know what Pet found me at?"
"Yes."--She could not tell whether he saw the whole,--he was clearly in
the mind to hear it, taking both her hands in his.
"I did that," said Faith.
"Did what?"
"I got work from Miss Bezac.--She gave me lessons."
"For how long?"
"Since--about a fortnight after you went away. It was then Squire
Deacon took away the farm. From that time until Pet came--" she added
with a little rise of colour in her cheeks.
"And that all the daylight and candlelight hours of each day?"
"O no, not that. I had long walks to Miss Bezac's, you know--or
rides--every day or two; for we kept Jerry; and I never sewed before
breakfast. And in the evening I used to write letters--part of the
evening."
"Child! child!"--He dropped her hands, and began to pace up and down
the moderate limits of Mrs. Derrick's best carpet. Until after a few
turns Faith put herself straight in his way and intercepted him, with a
very innocent face.
"Faith, did no one protest against this--for me?"
"Yes, sir."--
"And you knew that I had guarded--that I had _tried_ to guard you
against any such possibility?"
Faith paused. "Yes, I knew,--but Endy, that couldn't make any
difference."
"It did not--How, could not?"
"It ought not," she said softly and colouring.
"Can you tell why?"
"You know, Endy, it was better,--it was right,--it was better that I
should work for myself."
"Never, Mignonette--while I could work for you. How do you expect to
manage when you are my wife?--And do you think I had no right even to
_know_ about it?"
"I thought--now was the best time--" Faith said.
"Am I to learn from this and similar instances what my wife will expect
of me if I chance to be sick or in trouble?"
It touched her. She coloured again to the roots of her hair.
"Do you think I did wrong, Endy?" she said doubtfully, yet in an
appealing fashion.
"I cannot say you did right."
"But when you could do me no good,"--said Faith very gently,--"and I
should only have given you pain--for nothing?"
"It would not have given me pain to have you tell it--and the thing
does now. Besides, in a great many cases the thought that it is pain
'for nothing' is a mistake. I might know some remedy when you did not.
Self sacrifice will never run wild in my nature--as it is inclined to
do in yours, but just imagine it once in the ascendant and me with a
bad headache (which I never have),--it can only give you pain to hear
of it--so I tell you of it the next day. But if I had told you at the
time--what conjurations of your little fingers! what quick-witted
alleviations!--till the headache becomes almost a pleasure to both of
us."
Faith was very near the unwonted demonstration of tears. She stood
still, looking down, till she could look up safely.
"I will not do so again, Endy.--About important things, I mean,"
"You know, Faith, I am speaking less of this one case, than of the
daily course of future action. Is not perfect frankness, as well as
perfect truth, best? And if I call for your sympathy in all manner of
small and great things, will you let mine lie idle?"
"I might like it,"--said Faith honestly. "But in great things I will
not again, Endecott."
"Take care you get the right measure for things," said Mr. Linden
smiling. "Frankness makes a deliciously plain way for one's feet."
Faith looked sober again, at the idea that she should have failed in
frankness. Then put her hand in his and looked smiling up at him.
"There is one thing I will not keep from you any longer,"--she said.
"What is that?--the seal of this little compact of plain speaking?"
"Strawberries!"--
"Only another style of nomenclature,"--said Mr. Linden.
"You must take the trouble to go into the other room for them."
And light-heartedly Faith preceded him into the other room, where the
dinner was ready. A very simple dinner, but Mrs. Derrick would not have
had anything less than a roast chicken for Mr. Linden, and the lettuce
and potatoes did very well for a summer day; and Faith's waiting on
table made it only more pleasant. Talk flowed all the while; of a
thousand and one things; for Mrs. Derrick's sympathies had a wider
range since Mr. Linden had been in Germany. Indeed the talk was
principally between those two. It was a remarkably long dinner, without
multiplication of courses--there was so much to say! Many were the
pleasant things swallowed with the strawberries. It is said hunger is
the best sauce; it's not true; happiness is a better.
And then--what came then? Truly, the same over again--looking and
talking, without the strawberries. Which were not wanted; especially
when Faith was dressed out with roses, as she was presently after
dinner. As she _would_ wash the tumblers and spoons in the dining-room,
spite of all Mrs. Derrick could say, so Mr. Linden would stay there
too; not indeed to do anything but look on, and bestow the roses as
aforesaid. Talking to her sometimes in English, sometimes in French,
with preliminary instructions in German.
"Mignonette," he said, "I have three letters for you to read."
"Letters, Endecott!--Who has written to me?"
"Through me--three regions of country."
"What do you mean?"
Just as she spoke the words, Faith paused and set down the tumbler she
was wiping. Her ears had caught the sound of a modest knock at the
front door. She looked at Mr. Linden.
"Stay here, Endy--please!" she said as she threw down her towel and ran
off. But Faith's hope of a chance was disappointed. She ushered
somebody into the sitting-room and came back gravely and flushed to Mr.
Linden.
"It's Mr. Somers--and he wants to see you, Endecott!"
Faith went at her tumblers, and simultaneously, greatly to the dismay
of one party as to the surprise of the other, in walked Mr. Somers
after her.
"Miss Derrick told me you were in this room, sir," said the clergyman
shaking Mr. Linden's hand,--"so I came in. Ha! I am glad to be one of
the first to welcome you back. How do you do, Mr. Linden? You've been a
great while from Pattaquasset!--and you've been missed, I don't doubt."
Apparently not by Mr. Somers! But Mr. Linden met all the advances as he
should, merely stating his belief in the general proposition that
"there is always somebody to miss everybody."
"Will you take a seat here, sir?" he said--"or may I go with you to the
next room?"
"I--have no choice," said Mr. Somers looking benignantly around;--"it
is very pleasant here, very!--cool;--perhaps Miss Derrick will have no
objection to our taking our seats here?"
Faith did not say, but as Mr. Somers had taken her leave for granted,
and his seat consequently, she was saved that trouble. How she reddened
at the thought of the roses with which she was dressed! And there she
stood in full view, washing her spoons! But Mr. Somers looked the other
way.
"I--I am very happy to see you again, Mr. Linden--very happy indeed,
sir! I heard from Squire Stoutenburgh that you were expected, and I
lost no time. How have you enjoyed your health, sir, this year? A
year's a long time! isn't it?"
Mr. Linden, taking his seat as in duty bound, looked abstractedly at
Faith and the spoons and the roses, and answered according to the
evidence.
"Yes, Mr. Somers,--and yet it depends very much upon how far the two
ends of the year are apart in other respects. The 'Voyage autour de ma
chambre' could never _seem_ very long, whatever time it took."
"Ha!"--said Mr. Somers blandly,--he hadn't the remotest idea what this
speech might mean,--"no. Did you have a good passage coming over? We
had every sign of it."
"Very good,"--said Mr. Linden smiling,--"and very stormy."
"Ah?"--said Mr. Somers,--"very good and very stormy? Well I shouldn't
have thought that. But I suppose you have got to be such a traveller
that you don't mind which way the wind blows, if it blows you on,
ha?--like Dr. Harrison. _He_ never minds the weather. Dr. Harrison's a
great loss to Pattaquasset too," said Mr. Somers looking at Faith and
smiling a little more openly;--"all our--ha!--our pleasantest members
of society seem to be running away from us! That's what Mrs. Somers
says."
"One more spoon--and put them up,"--thought Faith,--"and then I'll be
away!"--
"But I've come to see if I can't get you to do me a favour, Mr.
Linden," said Mr. Somers withdrawing his eyes and mind from her.
"I--should be very much obliged to you indeed! I'm almost afraid to
ask, for fear I sha'n't get it."
Faith wiped her spoon slowly.
"I like to do favours," said Mr. Linden,--"at least I think I should.
But I cannot imagine how you can give me a chance, Mr. Somers."
"Don't you think it would be a great gratification to all your old
friends in Pattaquasset, if you would consent to fill my pulpit next
Sunday? They--I believe they'd come from all over the country!--and it
would be--a--it would be a very great gratification indeed to me. Can't
I prevail with you?"
Faith had ceased her work and was standing quite still, with bended
head, and cheeks which had gathered their colour into two vivid spots.
On those carnations Mr. Linden's eyes rested for a moment, with a
strange feeling of pleasure, of emotion. The sort of touched smile upon
his lips when he spoke, did not, it may be said, belong to Mr. Somers.
His answer was very simple and straightforward.
"I should like to see and speak to all my old friends again, sir, more
than I can tell you--and I think they would be glad to see me. I could
do it so well in no other way. Thank you, Mr. Somers!--it is you who
confer the favour."
"Then you'll do it?" said Mr. Somers, delighted. "I am very happy--very
fortunate indeed! It will be quite a relief. And a pleasure--a very
great pleasure--a--I assure you, sir. It's profitable for--a--people to
have a change--they listen--ha!--they hear the same things said in a
different way; and it is often striking. And it is certainly profitable
to the pastor. Well, Mr. Linden, I shall make a great many people
happy,--and Mrs. Somers, she'll set off on her side to tell the news.
How long are you going--a--to remain in Pattaquasset?--But I don't
know," added he laughing,--"as I ought to ask!"
Faith had carried her spoons summarily to the cup-board, and was
sitting at an open window near it, looking out.
"And I cannot answer," said Mr. Linden. "I have hardly got past my
arrival yet, sir."
"No--certainly. I was--a--premature. You must excuse me. And I have no
right to take up any more of your time,--as you have so
kindly--a--consented to give me Sunday. What is the state of religion
now, abroad, sir?"
The answer to which comprehensive enquiry drew on into a talk of some
length, although Mr. Somers had declared he must go and had no right to
stay. For a little while Faith sat still by her window, but then she
vanished and appeared at Mrs. Derrick's side in the kitchen. The dishes
were all done there too, and Mrs. Derrick was "ticing" about,--talking
to Faith and wishing Mr. Somers would go, some time before he went.
Faith heard the closing door, and the light returning step,--then a
clear--not loud-spoken--"Mignonette--where are you?"
Faith sprang back through the passage, and stood in the eating-room
again. With a very sweet sort of gravity. All her mind and her face
full of the thought that he was going to preach for Mr. Somers.
"What are you about, little Sunbeam?--are you busy?"
"No."
"Then first I want a talk with you, and then a walk with you,--do you
want the same with me?--or are you tired?"
"No--yes;--I'm not tired a bit."
"Are you nervous?" he said, drawing her off into the next room.
"No!" she said laughing a little,--"did you ever think I was,
Endecott?"--But Faith's heart beat somewhat strangely.
"I am going to try you--" he said as he sat down by her; "so if you
are, shut up your eyes."
There was no sign of shutting up in Faith's eyes. She looked at him,
not indeed assuredly, but steadily, and with a wee smile. Eye and smile
were met and held, until he had taken her left hand and held that too;
but then looking down at it, Mr. Linden gravely took out a little gold
ring and proceeded to try how well its dimensions agreed with those of
the finger for which it was destined.
Nothing moved of Faith but her eyes, which followed his, and the
fluttering colour--which fluttered indeed! went and came like the
lights on a wreath of vapour.
Silently the hand, with both rings on, was looked at for a few
moments--then held to his lips, with special greeting of those two
fingers; and then, as he took off the second ring, Mr. Linden looked up
at her.
"Mignonette, when may I put it on again?"
There seemed to be difficulty in Faith's answering. Probably she was
making up her mind to speak, but he had to wait for her words to be
ready. He waited quietly, as if he expected it; looking down at the
hand he held, and saying nothing unless by the clasp of its little
fingers.
"Do you know where you are going yet Endy?"--she said in a very low
voice.
"No, darling--not certainly."
"Then--do you want to know this yet?"
"Very much."
Faith had expected no less; she had had fair warning; and besides in
her heart could not but confess that Mr. Linden had reason. Little as
she might care to disturb the existing state of things, which to her
mind was pleasant enough, it was clear that his mind on the subject was
different; and she could not find fault with that. There was a pause
again, of quiet waiting on one side and great difficulty of utterance
on the other, and the words when they came were in the lowest possible
key.
"What do you wish?"
"What I have been waiting for all these years."
"But as to time?"
"As little as possible."
"I know,--but what is that, Endy?"--she said with very timid intonation.
"'As little as possible'?" he said, raising his eyes with a laughing
look to her face,--"the words hardly need explanation--I might have
stayed Mr. Somers this afternoon. It cannot be too soon for me,
Mignonette--but I do not know what is possible for you."
What was possible for her! It almost took Faith's breath away. Because
she acknowledged Mr. Linden's right to his wish. She was in great
confusion, besides.
"I will do what you please!" she said at length. "You may arrange it
with mother."
"No, with you," said Mr. Linden,--"what do you please? Am I to repeat
the passage of Quapaw creek?"
She looked up and looked at him, and said yes. It was a look any man
would have liked to have given him. Not without a little fear of what
he might say, those eyes put such a pure faith in him and were so ready
to answer his pleasure. She waited for his answer, though her eyes did
not.
"You know, dear Faith, I sent you word to be ready for me,--is that
done?"
"Yes nearly."
"'Nearly' is soon despatched," said Mr. Linden,--"and this is the month
when, 'if ever, come perfect days'--Shall we say a week from to-day?"
She looked very startled, soft though the glance was that again met his
face. And for a moment the roses fairly fled away. "As soon as
possible" this was, sure enough. They came back however, first
stealthily and then swiftly, till Faith's face was bowed and her right
hand with futile intent of concealment was interposed between it and
Mr. Linden. But whether Faith meant to speak or meant not to speak,
certain it is that words were none.
"I cannot have this!" said Mr. Linden, as he took the shielding hand
into his own possession,--"Faith, you shall not look pale about it.
This is the second time I have banished the colour in the first
twenty-four hours I have been home. And these roses I see now, seem to
me to come from the same tree as the white ones. If you would look more
boldly at the subject it would appear much less terrific--and the same
might be said of me. What sort of a face have I down there in the
carpet?"
There was a little clasp of his hand which answered that; but though he
could see Faith's lips give way he did not hear them speak.
"Mignonette, the treaty waits your signature."
"Yes, Endy,"--she said quaintly enough. Mr. Linden brought her face
round within sight, saying--much as he had done at Quapaw creek--"Are
you afraid, dear child?"
"No--" she said timidly, and yet "no" it was.
"Then it only needs my seal.--In one of the northern countries of
Europe, Mignonette, the bride and bridegroom are expected to stand at
the open window for an hour or two, in full dress,--so you see things
are not so bad as they might be. Now my little beauty--are you ready
for your walk?"