For some weeks the little town of Pattaquasset held on its peaceful way
as usual. Early summer passed into harvest, and harvest gave way to the
first blush of autumn, and still the Mong flowed quietly along, and the
kildeers sang fearlessly. For even tenor and happy spirits, the new
teacher and his scholars were not unlike the smooth river and its
feathered visiters. Whatever the boys were taught, they certainly
learned to be happy; and Mr. Linden's popularity knew no bounds in his
own domain. Neither did it end there: those fair members of the
Pattaquasset society who thought early walks good for their health,
felt their sleepy eyes well paid for keeping open when they met Mr.
Linden. Those who were fond of evening expeditions, declared that his
figure in the twilight was 'quite a picture,' and made them feel 'so
safe,'--a great slander, by the way, on Pattaquasset. Mr. Simlins was
his firm friend, and many another--known and unknown. Squire Deacon, I
regret to say, was an exception.
Squire Deacon declared (confidentially) that he never _had_ thought the
new teacher fit for his business, _no_ how. As far as he could hear,
Mr. Linden had never taught school before, and in that case what could
you expect? "Moreover," said the Squire, "I am creditably informed,
that the first day he kep' school _here_, he begun by asking the boys
who made them!--as if _that_ had anything to do with geography. Of
course it's nat'ral for a man to ask what he knows he can answer if the
boys don't," added Squire Deacon in the way of kind explanation.
Whereupon, Jonathan Fax, the Squire's right hand man, requested to be
informed, "_why_ ef a man was poor didn't he dress as though he felt
so,--and _why_ ef he warn't rich did he act as though he war?" And thus
by degrees, there was quite an opposition party in Pattaquasset--if
that could be opposition which the object of it never opposed. By
degrees too, the murmurs became more audible.
"Faith, child," said Mrs. Derrick in a cautions whisper, coining out
where Faith sat on the porch, bathed in the late September light:
"Faith, child, where's our Linden tree?" (Mrs. Derrick thought she had
concealed her meaning _now_, if anybody did overhear.)
Faith started, more than so gentle a question seemed to call for.
"He's gone down to the post-office, mother."
Her mother stood still and thought.
"Child," she said, "I never thought we had any fools in our town
before."
"I didn't know there were so many," said Faith. "What new, mother?"
"Child," she said, "you know more than I about some things--what do you
s'pose fools _can_ do? Isn't he a whole tree of knowledge?"
"There is no fear of him, mother!" Faith said with a smile, which if
the subject of it valued any faith in the world but his own it would
have gratified him to see. "They can't touch him. They may vex him."
Mrs. Derrick shook her head, softly, behind Faith's chair, then turned
and went back into the house; not caring, as it seemed, to spread the
vexation. Then after a little interval of bird music, the gate opened
to admit Reuben Taylor. He held a bunch of water lilies--drooping their
fair heads from his hand; his own head drooped a little too. Then he
raised it and came firmly on.
"Is Mr. Linden home, Miss Faith?"
"No, Reuben--He will be directly, I guess. Do you want to see him?"
"No"--said Reuben, "I don' know as I do, more than usual. I _have_ seen
him all day. He wanted some pond lilies, Miss Faith--at least he told
me to bring 'em. Maybe it was you wanted 'em."
"I'll give them to him, Reuben. What's the matter with _you?_"
But Reuben stood silent--perhaps from the difficulty of speaking,
"Miss Faith," he said at last, "is Squire Deacon all the trustees of
our school, besides Mr. Somers?"
"No. Why? What about it?"
"_He_'s doin' all the mischief he can," said Reuben concisely.
"What mischief has he done, Reuben?" said Faith, waiting upon the boy's
answer with an anxious face.
"Well"--said Reuben, as if he could not put it in plain words,--"he's
tryin' to turn folks heads--and some heads is easy turned."
"How did you know this?--and whose head has he turned, Reuben? Not
yours?"
"They'd have to turn my _heart_, Miss Faith," was Reuben's subdued
answer. Then he looked up and listened--hearing a step he well knew.
Nor that alone, for a few low notes of a sweet hymn tune, seemed to say
there were pleasant thoughts within reach of at least one person. Then
Reuben broke forth.
"They can't keep him out of heaven, anyway!--nor me, neither," he added
softly. But he ran down the steps and out of the gate, passing his
teacher with only a bow; and once beyond the fence, Reuben's head
dropped in his hands.
"Reuben! I want you!"--said Mr. Linden. But Reuben was out of sight.
Faith stood between the house and the gate.
"Where is he? can't you make him hear? I want that boy!" she said.
"I can run after him---- with doubtful success."
"The foolish fellow brought these for you, Mr. Linden," said Faith,
giving the lilies where they belonged.
"Complimentary, Miss Faith!" said Mr. Linden, taking the lilies and
smelling them gravely.
"_He_ is," said Faith, "and you speak as if _I_ wasn't."
"Will it redeem my character--or Reuben's--if I bestow the lilies upon
you, Miss Faith? I think that was their destination."
Faith took the lilies back again, with a slight smile and flash, and
stood attentively turning them over for a while. Then suddenly said
"Thank you."
"What did you want of Reuben Taylor?" said Mr. Linden. "Cannot I do as
well?"
"I should be sorry to think you wanted, Mr. Linden, what I wanted to
give him."
"That sounds terrific! But Reuben is under my jurisdiction--I don't
allow anybody to scold him but myself. So deliver it to me, Miss Faith,
and I will give it to him--duly pointed and sharpened up."
"No," said Faith smiling, "you couldn't do it so well as I. I wanted to
say two words to him to put nonsense out of his head."
"Nonsense!" said Mr. Linden, looking grave,--"I am as anxious on that
point as you can be. What nonsense has he got in his head?"
Faith hesitated, flushed and paled a little, and looked at her lilies.
"I don't know whether I ought to speak of it," she began, with much
less than her usual composure of speech. "Perhaps it is not my
business. Please forgive me if I speak wrong. But I half think you
ought to know it."--
"I'll try to bear the knowledge," he said smiling--"if you will promise
to speak the cabalistic two words that were to have such effect upon
Reuben. So you want to put nonsense into my head, Miss Faith?"
"Perhaps you know it already?" said Faith. "At any rate I think I
should feel better satisfied if you did know it. Mr. Linden," she said
speaking low--"do you know that Squire Deacon has been trying to do you
mischief?"
"Just suppose for a moment that you are one of my scholars, and give me
a definition of mischief."
To judge by the unbent lines of Faith's brow, there was nothing very
disagreeable to her in the supposition. Yet she had a look of care for
the 'definition,' too.
"When a man is meaning to do harm, isn't he doing mischief?"
"Only to himself."
"But do you mean that one _can't_ do harm to others in this world?"
"You said 'when a man is _meaning_ to do harm.'"
"Ah," said Faith laughing, "I should want a great deal of teaching
before I could give a definition that would suit you! Well then, isn't
_harm_ mischief?"
"I'm afraid I must yield that point."
"Then," said Faith simply, but very modestly,--"we come back to where
we started from?"
"What shall we do there?" said he smiling.
"Nothing, perhaps," said Faith with the same simplicity. "I only
thought it right to put you there, Mr. Linden."
"Thank you, Miss Faith. Now will you please pronounce over me the two
words intended for Reuben?"
Faith laughed a little, but then said gravely, "Mr. Linden, I should be
very sorry to think you needed them."
"It's impossible always to avoid being very sorry: I _want_ them, at
all events. Haven't you just been putting nonsense into my head?"
"Have I?" said Faith.
"Do you suppose there was any there before?"
"I--don't--think," said Faith, surveying his face,--"there is much
there now. I guess you don't need the two words, Mr. Linden. I was
going to tell Reuben he was a goose for thinking that that man could
hurt you."
His face changed a little.
"Poor Reuben!" he said--then with the former look--"On the whole,
perhaps it was well he did not come back. If you put those in water
they will open their eyes to-morrow. Fresh water--not salt," he added
as he followed her into the house,--"they are not part of the marine
Flora."
Tea was ready, with its usual cheer of eatables and pleasant faces; not
quite with its usual flow of talk. Mrs. Derrick certainly had something
bewildering on her mind, for she even looked at her guest two or three
times when he was looking at her. The pond lilies were alone in the
twilight parlour.
That was probably the reason why Lucinda introduced Parson Somers into
the tea-room, the parson happening to call at this identical time.
Parson Somers was always in a genial state of mind;--always, at least,
whenever he came into Mrs. Derrick's parlour; by the testimony of
numbers it was the same in many other parlours. He came in so now; gave
a smile all round; and took an empty chair and place at the table like
one who found it pleasant.
"Well, I declare, Mrs. Derrick," said Mr. Somers when he was
seated,--"I don't think there's--a--a more cheerful room in
Pattaquasset than this one; why, you always have everything agreeable
here. A cup of tea, now--I didn't expect it"
"Why we always _do_ have tea, Mr. Somers," said Mrs. Derrick, "but it
don't seem strong to-night. Lucindy--take the teapot and make some
fresh."
"These baked apples are strong--in numbers at least," said Mr. Linden,
as he bestowed one upon Mr. Somers.
"Thank you!--it's all strong enough, Mrs. Derrick--thank you!--very
good. And Mr. Linden--how are you--a--getting along with your juvenile
charge? Confining work, sir,--isn't it?"
"Rather, sir--to the body."
"Not to the mind, eh? Well--I should have thought that to a gentleman
like you it would prove--a--_more_ deleterious to the mental faculties.
But I suppose you find yourself rewarded by your pupils' improvement
and--regard!"
"Yes sir--their regard is very precious to me," was the quiet reply.
"I should think so! Why there's that boy Reuben Taylor--strange father
that boy has--fisherman;--I met that boy this evening, in the street,
and he was crying,--down a little below here--he was going home. I
asked him--ha--if Mr. Linden had been dealing hardly with him?--and I
declare!--I didn't know but Reuben would have attacked me on the spot."
"Has Mr. Linden a character in the village for cruelty?" said Faith.
"I--I declare--not that I know of, Miss Faith. I should think it could
not be deserved. That boy's attachment is certainly--ha--very warm. My
dear Mrs. Derrick, how well Miss Faith is looking! She always looks
well; but to-night--ha--the colour of her cheeks is--to be remarked."
"You will get a character for cruelty, Miss Faith," said Mr. Linden,
"if you ask about my character before my face."
Faith looked up as if she would willingly have asked a question; but
that being in present circumstances impossible, she merely uttered a
quiet little 'no,' and went on with her tea and with a colour still
further improved, A quiet little 'yes,' of about equal prominence, did
not divert the attention of Mr. Somers from his own remarks.
"It's delightful to see--really," said that gentleman. "But Mr.
Linden--ha--I am sorry to find that you haven't the good will of our
neighbour, Squire Deacon. The Squire's a valuable man--very!--the
Squire's a valuable man in the town. I am sorry. Do you know, Mr.
Linden--ha--how it has happened?"
"Have you asked the Squire himself, sir?" said Mr. Linden.
"Why--no, sir, I haven't. I--ha--wanted to get at the truth of it, that
I might, if possible, do something to heal the breach. Now you are
doing a valuable work in Pattaquasset, sir--I should be sorry to see it
interrupted--very--and I thought the best way would be to try to find
out what the matter was, in order if possible to its being removed. And
to get at the truth it is often best to hear both sides."
"But I have no side to tell, sir," said Mr. Linden--smiling in spite of
himself. "I cannot deny that Squire Deacon seems to withhold his good
will--I think it is for him to tell his reasons."
"Then you really have no idea what it can be about? and I may tell him
so? Because that would be a great point."
"No sir, you may not tell him that."
"Then you _have_ an idea what the matter is?" said Mr. Somers eagerly.
"Then, sir, if you will be so good as to let me know what it is--I have
no doubt--I entertain no doubt--we shall be able to smooth it all away,
and have peace."
"You cannot prove one man's ideas by another man's," said Mr. Linden.
"Then you can give me no help?" said Mr. Somers regretfully. "But Mr.
Linden--ha--it strikes me that it would be useful for me to know your
view of the cause of offence--whatever it is--before I know his. One
may correct the other."
"There has been no offence given sir," said Mr. Linden. "That the
Squire has taken offence we both know,--why he has taken it--_if_ I
know--I have no right to tell you, Squire Deacon might justly complain
of me if I did. It is from no disrespect to you, believe me."
"I say!" said Cindy coming into the room with a basket,--"here's Sam
Stoutenburgh been and fetched some Stoutenburgh Sweetenings--for his
teacher, he says. I'm free to confess," added Cindy as she set down the
basket by Mr. Linden, "he said if he _would_ like to do anythin' better
with 'em, it would just be to shy 'em at Squire Deacon's head--so I
guess they aint over and above ripe."
"Ha!--Very pleasant, certainly!--very gratifying," said Mr. Somers
rising. "Mr. Linden--I have no more to say. You are a gentleman, sir,
and understand these matters. I will see what I can do. Mrs. Derrick--I
thank you for your tea, ma'am--I am sorry there should be anything
disagreeable,--but I have no doubt it will all be set right--The Squire
is a good-feeling man--I have no doubt of it. Miss Faith--ha!--why Mrs.
Derrick this colour is too deep, it isn't natural. It looks feverish!"
"Do the Pattaquasset ladies use any rouge but their own sea breezes?"
asked Mr. Linden.
"Ha! we _do_ get the sea breezes here--pleasantly," answered Mr.
Somers. "Good evening!"--
Mr. Linden accompanied the visiter to the little gate, and returning
paced up and down the moonlit porch, followed only by his shadow.