"Endecott"--she said gravely--"it will never be further!"

He laughed a little--with a half moved half amused expression, wrapping her up like some dainty piece of preciousness. "Because every day that I am away will bring us nearer together? I suppose that is good measurement."

"You know," she said, "you have told me two things to-night, Endecott; and if one makes me sorry, the other makes me glad."

"I was sure of that!--And it is such great, great pleasure to think of the times of coming back--and of leaving you work to do, and of writing to you about it,--and then of finding out how well it is done! You must keep my books for me, Mignonette--mine, I say!--they are as much yours as mine--and more."

"Your books?"--she said with a flush.

"Yes--there are but a few of these that I shall want with me,--the most of _my_ study books I did not bring here."

"But won't you want these with you?"

"As far from that as possible. Do you think you could make up your mind to let me tell Reuben a secret?--and give him a reason for being even more devoted to you than he is now?"

She coloured very brightly again. "I am willing--if you wish it. Why, Endecott?"

"The chief reason is, that I do not wish to lose any of your letters, nor have you lose any of mine. And small postoffices are not so safe as large ones, nor are their managers proverbially silent. I should like to make Reuben a sort of intermediate office."

"And send your letters to him?"

"Yes. Would you mind that?"

"And my letters?"

"And yours in like manner, little Mignonette. He could either enclose them to me, or put them in some neighbouring office,--I think Reuben would enjoy an eight miles walk a day, taken for me. Or you could hide your envelope with another, and let him direct that. You need not be afraid of Reuben,"--Mr. Linden said smiling,--"you might give him forty letters without his once daring to look at you."

"But I thought--you said--he was going to college next summer?"

"That was talked of, but I think he will stay another year at home, and then enter a higher cla.s.s. It will save expense, and he will be longer with his father. Reuben and I hope to be brother ministers, one day, Faith."

"Do you! Does he!"--said Faith astonished. "That is good! I am glad of it. But what will _he_ do for money, Endecott?"

"We shall see--part of the way is clear, so we may hope the rest will be. Perhaps I may let him do some of his studying with me. Do you think you would object to that?"

"Object to it! How could I? What do you mean, Endecott?"

"O little Mignonette!" he said smiling, "how sweet you are!--and what joy it would be to see you wear the only t.i.tle I can give you! Don't you know, pretty child, that if I gave Reuben Hebrew you might be called upon to give him--tea!"

Faith's eyes went down and her colour mounted, and mounted. But her next remark was extremely collected. "How good it was Dr. Harrison's money came!"--

"I believe you stipulated that we were to have tea ourselves," said Mr.

Linden, "but the question remains whether you would dispense it to any one else."

Faith was only restrained from covering her face again by the feeling that it would be foolish; and withal a little laughter could not be prevented. She did shield one side of her face with her hand, and leaning upon it looked into the fire for suggestions. Finally answered sedately, "I should think you and he might have it together!"

"Have it--yes, if we could get it; but I am ignorant of any but the chemical properties of milk and sugar."

"I thought you said you knew cream when you saw it!" said Faith from behind her shield.

"That is knowing its appearance--not its properties, Miss Reason."

"What does reason want to know more, for a cup of tea?"

"But you have declared once to-night that I am not Reason," said Mr.

Linden laughing. "For instance--I once made the sudden acquaintance of a particular person, who made as sudden an impression on my mind,--after those three minutes I should have known her by sight (like cream) to the end of my life. But I went on trying experiments--(as one might taste successive drops of cream) finding out more and more sweetness each time; until (like cream again) I discovered that she was perfectly indispensable to my cup of tea!"

Faith bowed her glad little head, laughing, though feeling much deeper was at work.

"After this," she said, "I shall always be greatly at a loss what you are thinking of when you are looking at me."

"Will your reflections be carried on with such a face?" said Mr.

Linden. "Do you remember that afternoon, Faith?--when I so nearly laid hold of you--and you wanted to laugh, and did not dare?"

"What afternoon?"--

"The one wherein I first had the pleasure of seeing you. How demurely you eyed me!--and wondered in your little sensible heart what sort of a person I could possibly be!"

"How did you know I wondered?" said Faith colouring.

"By your very gentle, modest, and fearful examinations, your evident musings over my words, and the bright look now and then that told of progress."

Faith laughed.

"You made me begin to think and wish immediately," she said.--"It was no wonder I wondered."

"Yes, and how I longed to give you your wish, so far as I could,--and how afraid I was to offer my services,--and how you would persist in thanking me for pleasing myself, do you remember, little Sunbeam?--and your fright when I asked about Prescott?"

She looked up with the prettiest, rosiest remembrance of it all; and then her face suddenly changed, and turning from him she shielded it again with her hand, but not to hide the rosy colour this time. Mr.

Linden drew her close to him, resting his face upon her other cheek at first without words.

"Dear child!" he said,--"my own little Mignonette!--you must not forget what you said to me,--and you must not forget that I hope to come home quite often. There was a time, when I thought I might have to go away and never have the right to come and see you again. And you must think to yourself--though you will not speak of it to me--that after this bit of time, all our life will be spent together. You need not expect me to wait for anything--not even the cottage you like so much."

She did not answer immediately, as was natural, his last suggestions not being very word-provoking with her. But when she did speak, it was in a clear, cheerful tone.

"I'll bear my part, Endy--I should be very ungrateful if I couldn't.

And you can bear your part--I am glad to think of that!--for you are working for a Master that always gives full pay."

"We can always bear G.o.d's will," he said, a little gravely,--"it is only our own that points the trial and makes it unbearable."

CHAPTER XIV.

Faith had no chance to think that night. She went to sleep conscientiously. And a chance the next morning was out of the question.