The quiet of that very peaceful evening was for a short time
interrupted by a call from Dr. Harrison. The doctor came, he said, to
see how Mr. Linden felt after his day's work; and to tell Faith that
his exhibition was in readiness for her and only waited a sunny day and
her presence. It was agreed that if the sun did not fail of shewing
himself the next afternoon, Faith should not.
Tuesday was fair, and the afternoon came on brilliant with sunbeams.
But the doctor's steps did not reach Mrs. Derrick's door by some
minutes so soon as he had purposed they should.
Passing down the main street of Pattaquasset, Dr. Harrison descried
before him the well known figure of Squire Stoutenburgh, and the less
familiar outlines of Squire Deacon. And the doctor's near approach
procured him the favour of an introduction to the latter
gentleman,--either because the Squire desired it, or because the other
Squire was tired of his companion and wanted to be off--which he was,
as soon as the introduction was over. For in Mr. Stoutenburgh's eyes
the buttonhole of Dr. Harrison's soft coat was no more precious (to say
the least) than that of his own grey Rough and Ready.
"Squire Deacon is anxious about the state of Mr. Linden's health,
doctor," he said,--"I refer him to you."
The doctor made a slight inclination, graceful as all his inclinations
were, but also slight; intimating that he would have the honour of
satisfying Mr. Deacon's inquiries but desired nothing more of him.
"How's he getting along?" said Squire Deacon--feeling the social duty
thus imposed upon him.
"There is hope that he will be restored to his pristine state of
strength in the course of a few weeks, sir."
"A few weeks!" said Squire Deacon. "Why he's in school again, ain't he?"
"He has gone in a carriage," said the doctor, who for some
unaccountable reason had taken a fit of perversity,--"I understand he
was in school yesterday."
"Did you know him afore he come here, doctor?"
"I had not that honour, sir, till I came here myself."
"Well I never saw anybody as did," said Squire Deacon.--"I s'pose he
comes from _somewhere_."
"I doubt it," said Dr. Harrison with the slightest possible elevation
of his eyebrows for an instant. Squire Deacon, however, was not just
the fool Dr. Harrison took him for; of which fact a little gleam in his
eyes gave notice.
"'Taint extraordinary _you_ don't like him, doctor," he said
carelessly. "Mr. Linden's a fine man, but 'most any pair o' wheels is
one too many in some roads."
"I never followed a wheelbarrow, sir," said the doctor. "I suppose,
from your allusion, you have. May I be honoured with your further
commands?"
"Wheelbarrows have only one wheel, mostly," said Squire Deacon
composedly.
"You know better than I, sir. Might I enquire why you are anxious about
the state of Mr. Linden's health?"
"Don't know as I said I was anxious--" said Squire Deacon. "When a
man's lived in a place as long as he has, it's nothing wonderful if
folks ask whether he's going to hold on. All the women in my house
think he's dead and buried, now."
"Ah! He's a favourite in that line, is he?"
"Other lines just as much--for all I know," said the Squire. "Can't say
I ever just went in for all Mr. Simlins says nor all Parson Somers
says, neither,--can't help that, doctor, if he is one o' your folks."
"What have you against him?"
"I don't say nothing against him," said Squire Deacon,--"except he's a
fine man. Maybe you think that is."
"Is there anything further you would like to say on any subject, sir?"
"Not much, I guess, if _that's_ the time o' day," said Squire Deacon
looking at him with a queer little bit of a smile. "'Taint useful to
get stirred up that way, doctor, just because a man wishes you a good
journey. But I can just as easy wish you another overturn--I s'pose
you're pretty sure to get one or t'other out o' the horses. It's all
one to me--and I dare say it is to everybody else."
"What is your name, sir?" said the doctor standing and looking at him
in a sort of mazed consideration.
"My name's Sam Deacon,"--said the Squire with his peculiar sort of
sullen composure. "Your father and I've always been friends, anyhow."
"Then Mr. Deacon will you have the goodness to under stand that I am
not an agent for the transaction of Mr. Linden's affairs; but as I am a
friend of his, I will inform him that you are interested in the
subject. That is all, sir?"
"I'll go bail for the first part of that!" said Squire Deacon. "But
it's your affairs I'm talkin' of--not his'n. And I s'pose I've as good
a right as all the rest of Pattaquasset--and give no offence, neither.
I was goin' to make you my compliments, doctor--that's all; and if you
don't think you'll ever want 'em, why there's no harm done--and enough
said. All I want to know is, what do you get so stirred up for?"
"Is that all?" said the doctor, as if he had a mind to know the whole
before giving an answer.
"All what?" said Squire Deacon.
"All that you wish to communicate?"
"I haven't communicated anything yet," said the Squire. "I guess you
knew all that before."
"Well," said the doctor, half laughing, though his expression had
changed more than once during the last five minutes,--"then my answer
is easy. In the first place, Mr. Deacon, I have no affairs--therefore
it is impossible to talk about them. In the second place, when I am in
want of your compliments I will send you mine. In the third place,--I
declare I am at a loss how to answer you; for the only thing I ever get
stirred up for, is my breakfast! Good afternoon!--"
Staying no more civilities, the doctor made the best of his way to Mrs.
Derrick's. Faith was ready for him, and more gently with her he set out
on the road back again. It was not a time of day to meet people--one
familiar face however they did meet,--Squire Deacon. His eye did not
seek Faith's face, but rested on the doctor with full effect.
Arrived at the Judge's house, the doctor led her to the library, and
there unlocked the door of a little cabinet room. On a table in the
window, standing in the full sunshine, was the object of their visit.
It was simply a fine little Aquarium. More delightfully new to Faith's
eyes nothing could be; as the same eyes shewed. While they explored the
wonders of the box, the doctor at his ease proceeded to unfold to her
the various meanings of them. He enlarged upon the habits and
characters of the several inmates of the Aquarium; he explained to her
the philosophy of keeping the balance of vegetable and animal life and
thereby preserving both; he told which creature lived upon which other;
what office they severally, some of them, performed for the small
section of Ocean in which they lived and its vitrified shores; and then
taking up the subject of Sea anemones, the doctor told stories, of
natural truth, that with these living specimens before her entranced
Faith out of all knowledge of place or time. Dr. Harrison asked no
more. He gave her what she liked, and with admirable tact abstained
from putting himself forward; any further than a quick eye, excellent
speech, and full and accurate mind must make themselves known, and most
gentle and graceful attention make itself felt.
"Do you suppose," said he, when Faith was absorbedly watching the
Anemones feed,--"that Mrs. Derrick would give this thing house-room?"
Faith looked, but half comprehending.
"I am not always here," said the doctor carelessly, as he was supplying
another bit of flesh to the voracious flower,--"and I should like to
have it somewhere that it would be taken care of. If I left it to Sophy
for a week, I should expect to find on my return that the vegetables
and fishes had eaten up each other. Don't you admire that crab?"
"Very much," said Faith. "This little fish is just like some of the
shells down on the shore."
"He came from the shore somewhere," said the doctor,--"little monster!
The ocean world isn't much better than the world of earth, apparently,
Miss Derrick."
"Do you think the earth-world is like that?" said Faith.
"Don't you?"
"I don't know what it is like."
"If you will permit me to say so, I hope you never will--any further
than as you choose to make this a miniature of that. And things in
miniature--are much less," said the doctor abstractedly, looking at the
Anemone. "Would you like to have this little ocean box in your house
for awhile, Miss Faith?--it could just as well as not. Indeed it would
be rather a benefit to me."
"O I should like it!" said Faith. "But I should be afraid of its
getting broken, Dr. Harrison."
"I am not afraid," said he. "It would be in less danger there than
here. As I told you, Sophy neither knows nor cares anything about such
things; and she would either kill them with kindness or forget them
altogether--most likely do both alternately. But with you they would be
safe, for the simple reason that you love them."
The sunbeams had left the window before Faith was at all aware of the
passing away of the afternoon. And then, for once to her joy, Miss
Harrison could not be found. They set out to walk home, and had got
half way when a little rush of footsteps came up behind them, and
Reuben and Sam passed by, arm in arm; or rather half by--then paused
and said good evening.
"O have you seen Mr. Linden to-night, Dr. Harrison?" said Sam.
"Good evening, sir!" said the doctor. "Have I the honour of knowing
you?"
"I should think you might," said Sam, in a tone not at all
displeased--"but it don't signify much. Have you seen him to-night,
doctor?"
"_I_ should think I might, too," said Dr. Harrison looking coolly over
the "young giant." "Allow me to observe, that 'to-night' is not come
yet."
"Did you ever!" said Sam in an aside to Reuben, who had stood perfectly
still without speaking. "Well any time since he got home then, sir?"
"No, sir."
"Have you, Miss Faith?" said Reuben.
"No, Reuben--I am just going home. What's the matter?"
"Why he fainted in school--that's all," said Sam,--"he said there was
nothing the matter. Only we were going down to see how he got home, and
I thought maybe the doctor might tell us first." And not staying for
more words the two boys walked on a few steps, then set off and soon
ran themselves out of sight.
The other two quickened their walk, the doctor moderating his steps
however to suit the strength of his companion. But she soon took the
lead, and Mrs. Derrick's house was reached in as short a space of time
as the ground might be travelled without a speed which Faith did not
dare assume.
There was nothing alarming in the little parlour. Mrs. Derrick sat
knitting; Mr. Linden had been reading, but now was talking--half
laughing, half chiding--with the two boys who stood before him. Reuben
stood silent, smiling a little; Sam's energy was at work.
Faith came in quietly, with a face to which all her quick walk had not
brought back the colour. She said nothing. But the doctor's tongue was
free.
"Why what's this, Linden?"
"This is--Linden," said that gentleman coolly. "No boys--go off,--I
think I can live without seeing either of you again till to-morrow.
What's the matter, Dr. Harrison?"
"Just and precisely what I was asking," said the doctor; while Faith
glided to her mother and sitting down by her whispered enquiry. But
Mrs. Derrick knew nothing--had heard nothing, apparently.
"It's for you to state the case--" said Mr. Linden. "You speak as if
you had a warrant of arrest in your pocket."
"Why!" said the doctor, standing and looking down upon him,--"here's a
wind that has blown from nowhere! Do you want me to lodge information
against yourself?"
"_I_ don't wish to lodge any."
"Linden," said the doctor changing his tone to one of serious kindly
interest, while Faith's eyes from her more distant seat waited for the
answer,--"what is the matter? What made you faint to-day?"
"What nonsense have those boys been talking?" said Mr. Linden--but his
look carried the charge a little beyond the range of his words. "I was
faint for awhile--not quite in a 'deadly swoond,' however."
"That young scapegrace said and declared you had fainted."
"They are so used to their own red cheeks, they think red is 'the only
colour,'" said Mr. Linden. "However, I believe he spoke true--but it
was nothing worth speaking of, after all."
"What was the cause?"
"I presumed a little upon the successful way in which I got through
yesterday--tried to do a little too much to-day, had one or two things
to try me--and so. Which of my boys do you honour with that title of
scapegrace?"
"You mustn't do so again," said the doctor seriously.
"There was no malice prepense to-day," said Mr. Linden. "What have you
been about all the afternoon?--I expect to hear that you have sailed up
the Great Pyramid in a canal boat, or coasted Japan in a Chinese
lantern."
"Nearly right," said the doctor. "We have been enacting the part of the
wise men of Gotham--I can't imagine where I ever heard of them!--who
went to sea in a tub."
"Went to see--what?--" said Mr. Linden laughing.
"Went to Se-vast-a-pool!" said the doctor with perfect gravity. "I hope
you're better!"
"Don't I look well?"
"If I were to take the votes on that subject," said the doctor, "I
presume the verdict would be unanimous. But looks are
proverbially--unsatisfactory! Do you know what damage you have done me
by your exploit this afternoon?"
"I should be very glad to hear."
"Why you have brought me into discredit and disfavour with half
Pattaquasset, man, because I have let you go out too soon--don't you
see? Mrs. Derrick has already laid it to her account against me--which
is getting to be a score I shall never dare to foot up."
Faith had left the room for a minute, and coming back again began to
make ready the table for tea. Dr. Harrison's eyes followed her. She was
not looking as she had looked at his anemones; quiet, sweet, and grave,
she went round gathering up the books, and arranging the cups and
plates. But the doctor, though asked, would not stay. He went off and
the tea was brought in.
"Miss Faith," said Mr. Linden, "if you are half as ready for that
exercise as I am, we shall get on superbly to-night."
She almost started.
"You, Mr. Linden! Oh you're not fit for it!"
"Not fit for it!--Miss Faith, how can you say that to me?"
"Let it be so to-night, Mr. Linden!"
"I shall do nothing of the kind, Miss Faith, by your leave. You know I
can rest here most comfortably, and make you work--after the same
fashion, I hope. I am a little afraid," he said looking at her, "that
you are working too much."
"Why, Mr. Linden? How could I?"
"By not keeping your studies well balanced with fresh air."
"O no!" she said smiling. "The work is a great deal better than the
fresh air. Besides, I have been out to-day."
"You might as well say that bread is a great deal better than water.
Yes, you have been out to-day, that is one good thing. And I shall try
to throw somewhat into that scale myself, if I live. But I want all the
books to-night, Miss Faith--and to-morrow, you know, is a half holiday,
but you need not expect to have one."
Faith's tea went on after that in a manifestly different manner.
Expeditiously the table was cleared after tea! And if ever Faith
wrought with eager care to do perfections and save her teacher every
word and thought that could be spared, she did it then. So the exercise
was written, with most earnest guarding against anything 'german' or
'sophisticated' in her letters. Indeed Faith's handwriting, by dint of
taking pains, was fast growing into stiff correctness--not without a
certain beauty, of promise at least, but stiff still. And with all her
other lessons, of thought or memory; what earnest quick effort could do
was done that night, and done upon the back of a sound preparation.
Mr. Linden however did not spare himself words, riot much, and care not
at all; watching and guiding his pretty scholar with equal gravity,
gentleness, and attention; rarely diverging from the business view of
the subject, unless Faith grew timid or frightened, in which case he
indulged himself with making her laugh, and so brought her back to
business again. What views Mrs. Derrick took of the two, thus engaged,
it would be hard to say; save that they were wondrous pleasant ones--a
little puzzled, a little thoughtful, loving and pleased to the last
degree. How much she studied those two faces!--not Faith herself
bestowed more care upon what she was about. But Faith came to
conclusions--Mrs. Derrick never did; wanting help from the very person
who cleared the path of learning for her daughter. His face--its
gravity, its changes--she could not read; but she liked the study.
The doctor's plan about the Aquarium was excessively distasteful to
Mrs. Derrick. She read the meaning and grounds of it, which Faith
entirely failed to read; but then to give them to her was hardly an
advisable thing. So the Aquarium came, after a few days; and Faith
having found that Mr. Linden could give her some help, if necessary, in
the care of it, relieved her mind of all concern about the
responsibility and took the full good of the trust. In a sunny window
it was placed, and many a happy minute between the times of other
things Faith stood or sat there to watch the unfolding and shrinking
Anemones, and the restless, eager, wild lives of the other and more
distinctly animal inhabitants of this little section of Ocean. The only
uncomfortable thing about it was that other people sometimes saw it and
heard how it came there; and other people, Faith knew, drew very
ridiculous inferences from nothing. And though ridiculous they were
disagreeable. But however, she knew best how it came there and how
simple a matter it was; and it was never the way of her simplicity to
trouble itself overmuch about ridiculous things.
Another person, it may be remarked, knew how it got there; and he found
it pleasant to come and see it some times. This was generally in the
afternoon, now, when Mr. Linden was not at home and Faith was not
occupied in household duties. Pleasant talks were held over the
Aquarium; for there was never an end of things that might be told of
old and new discoveries connected with what was in it. The
conversations diverged often to other matters, religious or scientific
as the case might be; and were clever, bright, interesting, or amusing
accordingly--and invariably.
And so the time wore on towards the 29th. But in the fourth week of Mr.
Linden's return to school duties, Faith began to have a new lesson--or
rather she had it once and practised upon it many times. That once was
at the end of a Wednesday afternoon, in exquisite Indian summer
weather; when other subjects being dismissed for the time, Mr. Linden
gave his scholar an interesting and precise account of the process of
respiration; passing thence to the obvious benefits of fresh air, and
finally requesting her to put on her things and come out and take them.
After which, it may be observed, Faith was never heard to say that
studies were "a great deal better than fresh air,"--often as the walk
was repeated.
The other lessons made beautiful headway. Even the French talks at
dinner. That was harder to Faith than any other trial to which she had
been put. She shrank from it with great shrinking. But the desire to
please her teacher overcame even fear. Rather than not do that,--Faith
ventured, right or wrong; and once fairly launched, of course, with his
good help and her own endeavours, soon got into smoother sailing.
Mr. Linden and the doctor now met not often; the doctor making his
visits, as has been said, during school time. They met oftenest where
the doctor went seldomest,--in those rooms where Dr. Harrison did
sometimes let his profession call him, where Mr. Linden was drawn by
somewhat beyond profession. Sometimes this intercourse was only of the
eye,--sometimes they walked home together; the curious friendship
between them deepening, as it seemed, from all sources.
Come home when Mr. Linden would, his room looked as if somebody had
just stepped out of it. The fire was always in its best beauty; the
hearth guiltless of ashes; the temperature genial whatever the weather
out of doors might be; the books, the papers, the table, in their
wonted order or disorder, as fresh as if dust never fell. But the fairy
of the place was always out of sight.