October's foliage had lost its distinct red and purple and brown, and
had grown merely sunburnt; but the sky overhead still kept its
wonderful blue. Down the ravines, over their deep shadow, October
breathed softly; up the mountain road, past grey boulders and primeval
trees and wonderful beds of moss, went the stage waggon. The travellers
were going by a somewhat long and irregular route, first up one of the
great highways, then across to that spur of the mountains where they
were to live. Mrs. Derrick was to follow in a few weeks with Mr.
Stoutenburgh.
It was late and dusky when the stage waggon transferred the travellers
to Mr. Olyphant's carriage, which was waiting for them at a certain
turn of the road. Mr. Olyphant himself was there, with extra wrappings
for Faith; and muffled in them she sat leaning in the corner of the
carriage, tired enough to make the rest pleasant, awake enough to hear
the conversation; feeling more like a bird than ever, with that
unwonted night air upon her face, and the wild smell of woods and
evergreens and brooks floating about her.
At Mr. Olyphant's they were received with warm wood fires and excellent
supper, the welcome spending itself in many other ways. But though Mr.
Linden did take her to the door for one minute to hear a pouring
mountain torrent, she could see nothing that night. The stars overhead
were brilliant, the dark hill outline dim--the rushing of that
stream--how it sounded! Faith's whisper was gleeful.
"Endy, I can't see much, but it feels lovely! I am so glad to be here!"
The morning was wonderful. Such a sunlight, such an air, such
rejoicings of birds and brook and leaves. Mr. Olyphant's house stood on
one side of a woody slope, rocks and trees crowned to the very top; in
the ravine below, the brook Faith had heard. She could see it now,
foaming along, quieting itself as it came into smoother circumstances.
The most of its noise indeed seemed to be made in some place out of
sight, higher up. This slope was not very high, other ridges before and
beyond it looked down, not frowningly, in their October dress. Not much
else could be seen, it was a mere leafy nest. A little faint line of
smoke floated over the opposite ridge, glimpses of mountain paths here
and there caught the sunlight, below Faith's window Mr. Linden stood,
like some statue, with folded arms.
Faith hastily finished her dressing. As soon as that was done she knelt
at her window again, to look and to pray. Those hills looked very near
the sky; life-work there seemed almost to touch heaven. Nay, did it
not? Heaven bent over the glorious earth and over the work to be done
there, with the same clear, fair, balmy promise and truth. Faith could
almost have joined the birds in their singing; her heart did; and her
heart's singing was as pure and as grave as theirs. Not the careless
glee that sees and wants nothing but roses in the way; but the deep
love and gladness, both earthly and heavenly, that makes roses grow out
of every soil. So she looked, when Mr. Linden first discerned her,
venturing from the hall door and searching round for him.
"O little Sunbeam!" he said, "how you 'glint' upon everything! there is
a general illumination when you come out of the door. How do you feel
this morning?--rested?"--
"As if I never had been tired." And Faith might have said, as if she
never would be tired again; but only her eye revelled in such soft
boasting. "Where is our home now, Endecott?"
The ridge before them, on the other side of the ravine, rose up with
swifter ascent into the blue air, and looked even more thick set with
orange trees: but where it slanted down towards the more open country,
a little break in the trees spoke of clearing and meadow and
cultivation. The clearing was for the most part on the other side, but
a bit of one green field, dotted with two or three dark objects, swept
softly over the ridge line.
"Are you in the sight-seeing mood?" said Mr. Linden, with a look as
gladsome as her own.--"Yes; and seeing sights too. But where is that,
Endy?"
"I shall take you there by degrees; wait a moment," and he went in for
the glass. "Now, Mignonette," he said, adjusting it for her, "I wish to
ask your notice for a little black spot on that bit of clearing. But
first, what does it look like to you, a hut or a summerhouse?"--"It's
too far off; it looks like nothing but a black spot."
"Now, look," said Mr. Linden, smiling. O wondrous power of the glass!
the black spot remained indeed a black spot still, but with the
improvements of very decided horns, black tail, and four feet.
"Somebody lives there," said Faith. "It's a cow."--"Most true! What cow
do you suppose it is, Mrs. Linden?"
Faith put down her glass to laugh at him. "It's no friend of mine," she
said. "I have a few friends among cows, but not many."
"My dear Mrs. Linden, you always were rather quick at conclusions. If
you look again, you will see that the cow has a surrounding fence of
primeval roots, which will keep even her from running away."
Faith obeyed directions, carefully. "Endy," she said in an oddly
changed tone, "is it my black heifer?"--"It is not mine," said Mr.
Linden.
"But I didn't know she had come!" said Faith; then putting up her glass
again to scan the far-off "black spot" and all around it, with an
intenseness of feeling which showed itself in two very different spots
on her cheeks.
"Put down your glass, Faith," said Mr. Linden, "and look up along the
ridge to that faint blue wreath over the yellow treetops; that is your
first welcome from my study."
She looked eagerly, and then a most delighted bright smile broke over
her face as it turned to Mr. Linden.
"How do you know it is in your study, Endecott?--and who has lighted
it?"--"Some one! We'll go over after breakfast and see."
At breakfast many things were discussed besides broiled chicken. And
afterwards there came to the door two of the rugged, surefooted,
mountain horses, saddled and bridled for the expedition. On the porch
steps a great lunch basket told of Mrs. Olyphant's care; Faith was up
stairs donning her habit. Mr. Linden ran up to meet her.
"Faith," he said, laughingly, "Malthus has just confided to me, that
'if Mrs. Endecott has any things to take over,' they would make the way
wonderfully pleasant to him."
"Who is Malthus?"
The shy blush on Faith's cheek was pretty to see.
"He is an old servant of mine, who has been with Mr. Olyphant, and is
coming to me again."
Faith thought it was good news, and as good for Malthus as anybody. An
important little travelling-bag was committed to him, and the cavalcade
set forth.
The way was far longer than the distance seemed to promise, having to
follow the possibilities of the ground. A wild way--through the forest
and over the brook; a good bridle path, but no better. The stillness of
nature everywhere; rarely a human habitation near enough to afford
human sounds. Frost and dew lay sparkling yet on moss and stone, in the
dells where the sun had not looked; though now and then a sudden
opening or turn showed a reach or a gorge of the mountains all golden
with sunlight. Trees such as Faith had never seen, stood along the path
in many places, and under them the horses' footfalls frightened the
squirrels from tree to tree.
"Is this the only way of getting about here, Endecott?"
"This, or on foot, in many directions. That part of our parish which
lies below us, as Mr. Olyphant says, can be reached with wheels. But
look, Mignonette!"
The road turned sharply round a great boulder, and they were almost
home! There it lay before them, a little below, an irregular, low, grey
stone cottage, fitting itself to the ground as if fitting the ground to
it had been an impossibility. It was not on a ravine; the slope went
down, down, till it swept off into the stubble fields and cleared land
below. There was the sound of a great waterfall in the distance; close
by the house a little branch stream went bounding down, and spread
itself out peaceably in the valley. Dark hemlocks guarded the cottage
from too close neighbourhood of the cliffs at the back, but in front
the subsiding roughness of nature kept only a few oaks and maples here
and there. The cleared ground was irregular, like the house, running up
and down, as might be. No moving thing in sight but the blue smoke and
the sailing clouds and cloud shadows. The tinkle of a cow-bell made
itself heard faintly; the breeze rushed through the pines, then slowly
the black heifer came over the brow of her meadow and surveyed the
prospect.
Faith had checked her horse, and looking at it all, up and down, turned
to Mr. Linden. There was a great deal in her look, more than words
could bear the burden of, and she said none. He held out his hand and
clasped hers speakingly, the lips unbent then, though they went back to
the grave lines of thought and interest and purpose. It was not merely
_his_ home he was looking at--it was the one to which he was bringing
her. Was it the place for Mignonette? would it be too lonely, too cold?
or was the whole scene that lay before them, in its wild beauty, the
roughness covered and glorified by that supreme sunlight, a fair
picture of their life together, wherever it might be? So he believed;
the light grew and deepened in his own eyes as he looked,--the grave
purpose, the sure hope; and Mignonette's little hand the while was held
as she had rarely felt him hold it before.
Presently she bent down so that she could look up in his face,
answering him then with a smile.
"Endy, what are you thinking of? I am very happy." The last words were
lowered a little.
Mr. Linden's eyes came to her instantly, with something of their former
look, but very bright; and bending off his horse he put one arm round
her, with as full and earnest a kiss as she had ever had from him.
"That is what I was thinking of," he said, "I was thinking of my wife,
Mignonette."
"Aren't you satisfied?" she said in her former tone.--"Perfectly."
The look made a very personal application.--Faith shook her head a
little, and they rode on.
The cottage door was very near presently: Faith could see all the minor
points of interest. Malthus, who had got there by a short cut, waited
to take their horses; then a white cap and apron appeared in the
doorway for a second and vanished again.
"You will find another of our old dependants here, Faith," said Mr.
Linden.
"Who is that?" she said quickly.--"There were three women in our
house," said Mr. Linden, "that Pet and I called respectively, 'Good,'
'Better,' and 'Best,' this is Best. Hers was a name in earnest, for we
never called her anything else; and it was always the desire of her
heart first to see my wife and then to live with her. And I was sure
she would please you."
"What must I call her?--_Mrs_. Best?" said Faith. "No, you must call
her nothing but 'Best.'"
"That's excellent!" said Faith gleefully. "I thought there was nobody
here but _one_ friend of yours, Endecott. Now I shall get in order
directly."
"_That_ is what you thought you were coming to," he said, coming to her
side to lift her down. "How would you like to be taken right back to
Mr. Olyphant's?"--"Not at all!"
In answer to which she was lightly jumped down from the saddle and
carried off into the house; where Mr. Linden and Best shook hands after
a prolonged fashion, and the old servant--not that she was very old
neither--turned glad, and eager, and respectful eyes upon her new
mistress, touching that little hand with great satisfaction of heart.
"It's warmer in the study, sir," she said, "and there's a fire in the
kitchen, if Mrs. Endecott would like to see that. And shall I make one
anywhere else, ma'am?"
Best's white cap and apron were very attractive, and so, on the other
hand were Faith's blush and smile.
The hall in which they stood, rather a wide one, cut the house from
front to back, with no break of stairway. Through the open back door
Faith could see the dark cliff, and hear the brook. Mr. Linden asked
where "she would go first?" Faith whispered, "To the study." He smiled,
and opened the one door at her left hand, and led her in.
Not yet in perfect order, the bookshelves yet unfurnished, it looked a
very abode of comfort; for there were basking sunbeams and a blazing
fire, there were shelves and cupboards of various size and shape, there
were windows, not _very_ large, it is true, but giving such views of
the fair country below, and the brook, and the ascent, and the distant
blue peaks of the range. Warm-coloured curtains, and carpet, and couch
had been put here under Mr. Olyphant's orders; and here were things of
Mr. Linden's which Faith had never seen--his escritoire and study table
among others. _Her_ table, with a dainty easy-chair, at the prettiest
of all the windows, she knew at a glance--unknown as it was before; but
the desk which she had had long ago, stood on the study table, nearer
his. Mr. Linden brought her up to the fire, and stood silent, with his
arms wrapped about her for a minute; then he stooped and kissed her.
"How does it look, Sunbeam?"
Faith was grave, and her eye went silently from one thing to another
even after he spoke, then turned its full sunny answer upon him. Faith
certainly thought he did too much for her; but she spoke no such
thought, leaving it as she had once meant to leave other thoughts, for
action.
"You can put your books right in, and then it will be beautiful," she
remarked. "And look down the mountain, out of that window, Endecott."
She was taken over to the window for a nearer view and placed in her
easy-chair to take the good of it.
"Do you see that little red speck far down at the foot of the hill?"
Mr. Linden said, "in that particularly rough steep place?"--"Yes."
"That is the best thing we can get for a church at present."
Faith thought it would be a very good sort of a "thing" when he was in
it; but, as usual, she did not tell all her thoughts. They came back to
her easy-chair and table, and from them to Mr. Linden's face, with a
look which said "How could you?" But he only smiled, and asked her if
she felt disposed to go over the rest of the house.
For a house that was not in order, this one was singularly put to
rights. Boxes and packages and trunks there were in plenty; rolls of
carpet and pieces of bedsteads, and chairs and tables, and everything
else; but they were all snugly disposed by the wall, so that the rooms
could be entered and the windows reached. The inside of the cottage
was, like the outside, irregular, picturesque, and with sufficient
capabilities of comfort. The kitchen was in a state of nicety to match
that of Best; in a piece of ground behind the house, partly prepared
for a garden, Malthus was at work as composedly as if they had all been
settled in the White Mountains for the last ten years.
Lunch was taken somewhat informally; then the riding habit being
changed for a working dress, Faith set about reducing the rebellion
among boxes and furniture. Best had reason presently to be satisfied
not only with the manners but the powers of her new mistress; though
she also judged in her wisdom that the latter needed some restriction
in their exercise. Gentleness was never more efficient. The
sitting-room began to look like a sitting-room; tables and bookshelves
and chairs marched into place. Meanwhile Faith had been getting into
pleasant order one of the rooms up stairs, which, with what Mrs.
Olyphant had done, was easy; enjoying the mountain air that came in
through the window, and unpacking linen and china. Mr. Linden, on his
part, had been as busy with some of the rougher and heavier work,
opening boxes and unpacking books, and especially taking care of Faith;
which last work was neither rough nor heavy. She was amused (edified
too) at the new commentary on his former life which this day gave her:
to call upon servants when they were present, seemed as natural as to
do without them when they were absent. Faith mused and wondered a
little over the old habit which showed itself so plainly, thinking too
of his life in Pattaquasset.
The day had worn on and faded, and Faith was still busy in a hunt for
some of her wedding presents which she wanted to have on the tea-table.
But Mr. Linden for some time had missed her; and entering upon a tour
of search, found her in a large closet near the kitchen, with a great
deal chest on one side and a trunk on the other. Between them, on her
knees, Faith was laying out package after package, and pile after pile
of naperies lay on the floor around her; in the very height of
rummaging, though with cheeks evidently paled since the morning. Mr.
Linden took an expressive view of the subject.
"Mignonette, I want my tea."
"Yes!" said Faith eagerly, looking up and then at her work again, "just
so soon as I find some things--"
"I don't want 'things,' I want tea."
"Yes; but you can't have tea without things."
"I will be content with six napkins and ten tablecloths--just for
to-night, as we are in confusion."
"And no spoons?" said Faith. "Here they are."
"Yes; here they are," said Mr. Linden, "and here is everything else.
Just look at the state of the floor, for me to walk over."
"Not at all," said Faith; "please keep out. I will have tea ready very
soon, Endy."
"You shall not have anything ready," and Faith found herself lifted
from her kneeling position, and placed in a not uncomfortable nest of
things, "Now, Mrs. Linden, whatever of those packages your hands may
touch, shall lie on the floor all night. But as you see, my hands have
a different effect." And swiftly and surely the "things" began to find
corner room in the closet.
"Endy," said Faith, catching his hands, "please don't! Just go away,
and leave me here for three minutes."
"Not for one. I'll turn them all out again in the morning, after the
most approved fashion."
Faith sat down, the swift colour in her cheeks testifying to a little
rebellion. It was swift to go, however, as it had been to come; and she
sat still, looking on at Mr. Linden's work, with a little soberness of
brow. That broke too, when she met his eye, in a very frank and deep
smile.
"Well?" he said, laughing and leaning back against the closet door.
"Will you let me go and get tea now?" she said, with the same
look.--"You pretty child! No, I want Best to get tea--and you to be
quiet."
"I'll come and be quiet in three minutes, Endy, after I get rid of the
dust," she said, winningly.
"Genuine minutes? If Ariel 'put a girdle round the earth' in forty, you
should be able to put one round your waist in three--I suppose that is
included in a feminine 'getting rid of the dust.'"
Faith's face promised faithfulness, as she ran off towards the kitchen;
where in less than three minutes she and Best had proved the
(sometimes) excellence of women's business faculties. Meantime a
strange man lifted the latch of the kitchen door, and carefully closing
it after him, remained upon the scene of action.
"How d'ye do?" he said. "Is the new man come?"--"Everybody's new here,"
said Faith. "Whom do you mean?"--"Couldn't tell ye the first word! But
I've been after him better'n three times, if he ain't," the man spoke
as if it was "worse" instead of better.
"Whom do you mean?" said Faith more gravely; "the minister?"--"Now
that's what I call hitting the nail," said her visitor. "Well if he's
here, just tell him to come up the mounting, will ye?"--"When?"
"Moon sets close on to nine, and its lighter afore that."
"Where is the place?" said Faith, now very serious indeed; "and what do
you want the minister for?"--"I don't want him, bless you!" said the
man. "If I did, I shouldn't be standin' here. It's an old soul up our
way. He's got to go up to the bridge and over the bridge and 'tother
side of the bridge, and so on till he comes to it. And the bridge is
slippy." With which summing up, the man turned to the door, rattling
the latch in a sort of preparatory way, to give Faith a chance for
remarks.
"But who wants him there and what for? you haven't told me."--"Why it's
old Uncle Bias. Sen he's sick he's got something on his mind, never
seemed to afore, and he's in a takin' to tell it. That's all." And he
opened the door.
"Why won't to-morrow do as well as to-night?"--"Wal," said the man
slowly, "s'pose it might. Nevertheless, to-morrow ain't worth much to
him. Nobody'd give much for it."
"Why?"--"'Taint certain he'd get what he paid for."
"Is he very sick?"--"Very enough," said the man with a nod, and opening
the door.
Faith sprang forward. "Stop a minute, will you, friend, and see Mr.
Linden."
"That's his name, as sure as guns," said he of the "mounting." "No,
thankee, I don't care about seein' him now, next time'll do just as
well, and it's time he was off."
"Then wait and show him the way, will you? how is he to find it?"--"Do
tell!" said the man slowly, "if he can't find his way round in the
moonlight?"--"Better than most people," said Faith; "but I think he
would like to see you."
The man however chose to defer that pleasure also to "next time," and
went off. Faith went to the study. Coming up behind Mr. Linden where he
was sitting, and laying both hands on his shoulders, she said in a very
low and significant voice, "Endy, some one wants you."
"Only that you never assert your claims," he said, bringing the hands
together, "I should suppose it must be the very person whom I want."
Her head stooped lower, till the soft cheek and hair lay against his.
But she only whispered, "Endy, it is some one up the mountain."
"Is it?" he said, rousing up; but only turning his lips to her cheek.
"Well, people up the mountain must have what they want. Is it now,
Faith?"
"Endy--they say it's a dying man."
"Where? Is the messenger here?"--"I couldn't make him wait--he thought
he had business somewhere else. The place is--I dare say Malthus
knows--up the mountain, beyond the bridge--you are to go over the
bridge and on till you come to the house. And he says the bridge is
slippery." Only a fine ear could detect the little change in Faith's
voice. But she knew it was noticed, from the smile on the lips that
kissed her, two or three times. Then Mr. Linden disengaged himself and
rose up.
"Faith," he said, "you are to wait tea for me, and in the mean time you
must take one of Miss Bezac's cups of comfort and lie down on the sofa
and go to sleep. Your eyes will be just as good guiding stars sleeping
as waking."
She said not another word, but watched him go off and out into the half
dark wilderness. The moon shone bright indeed, but only touched the
tops of many a woody outline, and many a steep mountain side rose up
and defied her. Faith smelled the wild sweet air, looked up and down at
the gleams of light and bands of shadow; and then came back to the
study where the fire blazed, and sat down on the floor in front of it;
gazing into the red coals, and following in fancy Mr. Linden on his
walk and errand. It took him away from her, and so many such an errand
would, often; but to speak comfort to the dying and tell the truth to
the ignorant.--Faith gloried in it. He was an ambassador of Christ; and
not to have him by her side would Faith keep him from his work. That he
might do his work well--that he might be blessed in it, both to others
and himself, her very heart almost fused itself in prayer. So thinking,
while every alternate thought was a petition for him, weariness and
rest together at last put her to sleep; and she slept a dreamless sweet
sleep with her head on Mr. Linden's chair.
She awoke before he got back, though the evening was long set in.
Feeling refreshed, Faith thought herself at liberty to reverse orders
and went to the forbidden closet again, and to further conjurations
with Best. They could not have taken long; for when, some hour later,
Mr. Linden was nearing the house on his return, he had a pretty view of
her, standing all dressed before the fire in his study. The glow shone
all over her--he could see her well, and her fresh neatness. He could
see more. Faith Linden to-night was not just the Faith Derrick of old
time; nor even of six months ago. The old foundations of character were
all there, intact; but upon them sat a nameless grace, not simply of
cultivation, nor of matured intelligence, nor even of happiness. A
certain quiet elegance, a certain airy dignity--which had belonged to
her only since she had been _Mr. Linden's wife_. She stood there,
waiting now for him to come home.
The firelight caught behind her the gleam of silver, whether Mr. Linden
could see it or not, where the little chocolatière stood brilliant.
Faith had found that in her last rummaging. Miss Bezac's new trencher
and bread knife were on the table too, with a loaf of Mrs. Olyphant's
bread; and the fireshine gleamed on Mr. Alcott's saltcellars, and on
the Mignonette tea service. Faith evidently had pleased her fancy. But
now her fancy had forgotten it or left it in the background; and for
what, was well shown by her spring as she caught the sound of the
coming step. She met Mr. Linden at the door, gladness in every line and
movement, and yet the same grace over all her action now, that a minute
before was in all her repose. She said nothing at all.
"Watching for me, my dear child!" he said. "Faith, you have been on my
heart all these hours."
She waited till he had come up to the fire, and then softly inquired,
"What for?"--"'What for no?'" he said, smiling, but giving her face a
somewhat earnest consideration. "Have you been asleep?"--"Yes. And then
I thought I might go after my chocolate pot, in the closet."
"Sensible child! What did you think upon the great question of setting
forth to see me safe over the bridge?"--Her face changed, though
smiling. She whispered--"I did see you safe over it." But his lips were
grave instantly, and the eyes even flushed. And Faith could see then
that he was exceedingly tired. Gently her hands rather insinuated than
pushed him into the chair, and she ran away to give an order; coming
back to do two or three other things for his comfort. Still silent,
standing there beside his chair, she presently stooped and put her
fresh sweet lips to his. Roses full of dew are not sweeter; and if
roses were sentient things their kisses could not give sympathy more
fragrantly, nor with more pure quiet. Holding her fast, Mr. Linden
asked what she thought of her share of clerical duties, on the whole?
Faith answered somewhat quaintly, "Not much."
"You don't!--What a triumph for Miss Essie! Were you lonely, Faith?"
She was going to answer, then sprang away from him, for Malthus came to
the door. And the table was spread, with as dainty exactness as if
there were no disorder anywhere in Mr. Linden's household. The little
chocolatière steamed out its welcome, Malthus was gone, and Faith stood
by Mr. Linden's chair again.
"It is ready, Endecott."
He had watched her from under the shadow of his hand, her soft
arranging steps and touches. "Faith," he said, looking up, "is this the
night when I am to have sugarless tea, to remind me of the
over-sweetened cup of long ago?"
Her smile and flash of the eye were conscious as well as bright. "I
guess, sugar is 'potent' yet, Endy."
"_You_ are!" he said. "Have you been lonely, my dear child? You don't
answer me."
She hesitated a very little. "I felt you were away, Endy--but I didn't
wish you here. No, I wasn't lonely." His eyes spoke a full
understanding of both parts of her sentence. But his words touched
somewhat else.
"Those poor people up on the mountain! poor as unbelief could make
them. Faith, I must go there again in the morning."
"Is it far?"--"Pretty far. On the crest of the ridge."
"What about them, Endy?"
"What were you looking for, here in the embers?"--"I?" she said, the
colour instantly starting as she understood his question. "I was
looking for you, then."
"I was sure of it. I saw myself distinctly portrayed in a piece of
charcoal."
She laughed, gaily and softly. "Wouldn't you like to have some tea, and
then tell me what you saw up on the mountain?" she whispered.--"Ah,
little Sunbeam," he said, "I spent some weary hours there. No, I don't
want to tell you about it to-night. And so at last I came home,
thinking of the scene I had been through, and of you, left alone here
in this strange place. And then I had that vision of my wife."
She was silent, her face showing certainly a grave consciousness that
he was tired, and a full entering into the feeling of his work; but for
herself, a spirit as strong in its foundations of rest, as full of joy
both in his work and in him as a spirit could be. So till her eyes met
his, then the look broke in a winsome little confessing smile, and the
eyes fell.
"Don't you want something better than visions?" she said.--"Is that a
challenge?" He laughed and rose up, carrying her off to her place at
the table, and installing her with all the honours; and still holding
her by the shoulders asked "if she felt like the head of the
house?"--"No indeed!" said Faith.
"What then?"--"You know," said Faith, colouring, "what I am."
"Mrs. Endecott, I suppose. I have noticed, Mignonette," said Mr. Linden
as he went round to his chair, "that when ever you see fit to agree
with me, it is always in your own words!"
Which remark Faith benevolently answered with a cup of cocoa, which was
good enough to answer anything.
THE END.
PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER.
Typographical errors silently corrected:
Chapter 2: =who have them.= replaced =by who have them."=
Chapter 2: =in one sphere!"= replaced by =in one sphere!'"=
Chapter 2: =down the forfeits."= replaced by =down the forfeits.=
Chapter 3: =looked her eye= replaced by =looked, her eye=
Chapter 4: =spirit of light.= replaced by =spirit of light."=
Chapter 4: =commandment.= replaced by =commandment.'=
Chapter 5: ="don't you come= replaced by =don't you come=
Chapter 7: =Sally. I've nothin'= replaced by =Sally. "I've nothin'=
Chapter 7: =hammer and nails."= replaced by =hammer and nails.=
Chapter 8: =ever was tired= replaced by =ever was tried=
Chapter 11: ="Now how is this= replaced by =Now how is this=
Chapter 14: =truth forever.'"= replaced by =truth forever.'=
Chapter 15: =drop the sail?= replaced by =drop the sail?"=
Chapter 15: =old protegées= replaced by =old protégées=
Chapter 15: =pullin' em through= replaced by =pullin' 'em through=
Chapter 15: =what he said that for= replaced by =what he said that fur=
Chapter 28: =Endy," said Faith", "I shouldn't= replaced by =Endy,"
said Faith, "I shouldn't=
Chapter 30: =Look Endy= replaced by =Look, Endy=
Chapter 33: ="What's the state= replaced by =What's the state=
Chapter 33: =make butter, she said= replaced by =make butter," she
said=
Chapter 35: =Faith, I'm afeard!= replaced by =Faith, I'm afeard!"=
Chapter 39: =so Dromy could do= replaced by ="so Dromy could do=
Chapter 42: =deplaise= replaced by =déplaise=
Chapter 43: =want anything to eat= replaced by =want anythin' to eat=
Chapter 43: =gentleman's admiration= replaced by =gentlemen's
admiration=
Chapter 43: =I do remember= replaced by =I do remember,=
Chapter 43: =vous plait= replaced by =vous plaît=
Chapter 43: =where her pleased= replaced by =where he pleased=
Chapter 44: =been in part of= replaced by =been in part off=
Chapter 44: ='And they overcame= replaced by ="'And they overcame=
Chapter 44: =only to look at;"= replaced by =only to look at,"=
Chapter 44: =O litte Mignonette= replaced by =O little Mignonette=
Chapter 45: =heard her talking.= replaced by =heard her talking,=