"Dr. Harrison, Miss Faith. I was off on an errand after church, and one of his men came after me and told me to come to the house. And there I saw the doctor himself--and ho told me to bring you this basket, ma'am, and that he didn't like to trust it to any one else. And--" but there Reuben hesitated.

"And that you were the only person he knew who would go through fire and water for him?" said Mr. Linden.

"No, sir, but--I suppose I've got to say it, since he told me to,--Dr.

Harrison said, Miss Faith, that--" the message seemed to stir both Reuben's shame and laughter--"that he had begged a cake of his sister, to go with your Thanksgiving pies--and that it was in the basket. And that I needn't tell anybody else about it."

"Reuben," said Mr. Linden laughing, "you needn't tell him that I shall eat half the cake."

"No, sir"--Reuben said,--and tried not to laugh, and couldn't help it.

The third member of the trio shewed no disposition at all to much laughter. She had put the basket down on the table and looked at it from a distance, as if it had contained the four and twenty live blackbirds--or a small powder magazine. The effect of his message Reuben did not stay to see. He went round to Mr. Linden to ask if the morning orders were unchanged, clasped hands with him--then bowed low to Faith and went out.

With very demure face Mr. Linden seated himself in one of the easy-chairs, and looked towards the table, with the air of one who expects--something! And not demurely but with grave consciousness, Faith stood looking in the same direction; then her eyes went to Mr.

Linden. But his face did not relax in the least.

"Do you suppose that basket holds a kitten?" he said contemplatively.

Faith did not answer but walked over to the table and began the work of investigation. Mr. Linden came too. "If you are to make feline discoveries, I must stand by you, little bird," he said.

The basket was carefully tied with a network of strings over the top; then followed one paper after another, a silk paper at last,--and the cake was revealed. The low exclamation that burst from Faith might be characterized as one of mingled admiration and dismay.

Certainly Dr. Harrison had amused himself that Thanksgiving day!

perhaps in terror of his old enemy, ennui. At least his basket looked so.

The cake lay upon a white paper in the basket, with a little s.p.a.ce all around. It was a rather small loaf with a plain icing. But round the sides of it were trailed long sprays of ivy geranium, making a beautiful bordering. The centre was crowned with a white camellia in its perfection. From the tip edge of each outer petal depended a drop of gold, made to adhere there by some strong gum probably; and between the camellia and the ivy wreaths was a brilliant ring of gold spots, somewhat larger, set in the icing. Somebody, and it was probably the doctor, for want of better to do,--had carefully prepared the places to receive them, so that they were set in the white like a very neat inlay. It was presently seen that quarter eagles made the inlay, and that the camellia was dropped with gold dollars.

On the ivy lay a note. Faith looked at Mr. Linden as she took it up; broke the seal, and hastily running over the paper gave it to him--

"MY DEAR MISS FAITH,

My yesterday's speculation in pumpkins proved so successful, that like a true speculator it made me want to plunge deeper--into the pumpkin field! I find myself this morning dissatisfied with what I have done--and beg to send a cake to go along with the pies--to be apportioned of course as your judgment shall suggest. I begged the cake from Sophy, who I am sure would not have given it to me if she had known what I was going to do with it.

Your pleasure, personal and representative, last night, is a reproach to me whenever I think of it. Yet my unwonted hand knows neither how to cut up cake, nor what to do with it when it is cut--except--_avaler!_ Am I wrong in hoping that you will do me the grace to make available what I should only--if I tried to do better with it--throw away? and that as a token of your forgiveness and grace you will on the next opportunity bestow a piece of pumpkin pie, such as you carried the other night, on

Your very respectful and most obedient servant,

JULIUS HARRISON."

PATTAQUa.s.sET, Nov. 15, 18--.

Mr. Linden read the note more deliberately than Faith had done, but his face, the while, she could not read; though (fascinated by the difficulty) her glances changed to a steady gaze. It was quietly grave--that was all and not all,--and the note was given back to her with a smile that spoke both "thoughts" of the doctor, and pleasure for any pleasure Faith might have from his basket. But then some of the deeper feeling came out in his comments--and they were peculiar. He had stood still for a second after reading the note,--his eyes looking down at the cake--gravely; but then they came to her; and suddenly taking her in his arms Mr. Linden gave her--it would be hazardous to say, as many kisses as Dr. Harrison had gold pieces--but certainly as many as he had put in the basket, and more. Faith did not read them, either, at first,--till the repet.i.tion--or the way of it, told what they were; the glad saying that she was his, beyond any one's power to buy her,--more than all, an indemnification to himself for all the gold he could not lay at her feet! There needed no speech to tell her both.

A word or two had answered his demonstrations, first a wondering word, and then afterwards a low repet.i.tion of his name, in a tone of humble recognition and protest. Now she looked up at him with a child's clear face, full of the colour he had brought into it.

"Little darling," he said, "you will have your hands full of business!"

"Oh Endy--I am very sorry!"

"Sorry?" Mr. Linden said. "What about?"

"I'm sorry that basket has come here!"

"It gives you the means of making other people glad."

"Yes--but,"--Faith looked uncomfortably at the basket. Then brought her eyes back to Mr. Linden's face. "What ought I to do, Endecott?"

"The most good and the least harm you can in the circ.u.mstances."

"How shall I,--the last?"--she said with a manner like a beautiful child, truth struggling through embarra.s.sment.

"If you could contrive to make yourself disenchanting!"

Faith pa.s.sed that, and waited, her eyes making a grave appeal. Mr.

Linden smiled.

"I am afraid you can only be yourself," he said. "And if Dr. Harrison will not remove himself to a safe distance, there is not much to be done, except with the money. Let him understand that you consent for once to be his almoner, merely because you know better than he where the need is,--that you take from him, as from anybody, a donation for your poor and sick neighbours."

"Must I write?"

"No."

"But, Endecott--is that all?"

"All that I need say. You never did encourage him, Faith,--it may be a long time before he gives you a chance to _dis_courage. There is one thing I can do, if you wish."

She had stood with an awakened, sorrowful look, the colour burning all over face and brow. Now she startled and asked "What?"

"Something you do _not_ wish. I can tell him that you belong to me."

But that indeed Faith did not wish.

"Oh no, Endecott--I would rather manage it some other way. Now don't let us lose any more of our afternoon with it--but come and tell me what will be the best things to do with this money."

"It is hard to tell all at once," Mr. Linden said as they once more took their seats by the fire. "What have you thought of yourself?"

"I know where one or two blankets are wanting. And O, Endy! there is one place where I should like to send a rocking-chair--ever so common a one, you know."

"And if Ency Stephens had one of those little self-locomotive carriages, she could go about by herself all day long."