"What would mother do for hers, Mr. Simlins?" said Faith resisting this invitation.

"Well you can sit down anyhow, and read to me," said Mr. Simlins, who had already taken a seat himself in preparation for it. "People can't get along without light from one phenomenon or the other, you know, Faith."

She took off her bonnet, and brought the Bible. "What do you want, Mr.

Simlins?" her sweet voice said meaningly.

"Fact is," said the farmer rather sorrowfully, "I s'pose I want about everything! I don't feel to know much more'n a baby--and there aint more'n three grains of corn to the bushel in our minister's preachin'.

I go to meetin' and come home with my head a little more like a bell than 'twas; for there's nothing more in it but a ringin' of the words I've heerd. Do you mind, Faith, when somebody--I don't know whether you or I like him best--wanted me to try a new kind of farming?--you mind it? I guess you do. It never went out o' _my_ head again, till I set out to try;--and now I find I don't know nothin' at all how to work it!"

"What is the trouble, dear Mr. Simlins?" said Faith looking up.

The farmer hesitated, then said low and huskily, "I don't know what to do about joinin' the church."

"The Bible says, 'If a man love G.o.d, the same is known of him,'"--Faith answered softly.

"Well, but can't it be known of him without that? Fact is, Faith, I'm afeard!"--and a rough hand was drawn across the farmer's eyes--"I'm afeard, if I do, I'll do something I hadn't ought to do, and so only just dishonour the profession--and I'd better not have anything to do with it!"

Faith turned back the leaves of the Bible.

"Listen to what G.o.d said to Joshua, Mr. Simlins, when he was going to lead the people of Israel over into a land full of enemies.--

'Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed.'"

"It's easy to say 'be strong'," said the farmer after pausing a minute,--"but how are you going to contrive it?"

Faith read from the Psalms; and her words fell sweeter every one. "'In the day when I cried thou answeredst me, and strengthenedst me with strength in my soul.' That is what David says, Mr. Simlins; and this is Isaiah's testimony.--'They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.'"

"Go ahead, Faith!"--said the farmer, who was sitting with his head down in his hands. "You aint leavin' me much of a corner to hide in. Turn down a leaf at them places."

Faith was still again, turning over leaves.

"Paul was in trouble once, Mr. Simlins, and prayed earnestly about something; and this is what he says of the Lord's answer to him.--'And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.'--'When I am weak, then am I strong.'--And in another place--'I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.'"

"But he wa'n't much like me," said Mr. Simlins "he was an apostle and had inspiration. I hain't none."

"He was a man, though," said Faith, "and a weak one, as you see he calls himself. And he prays for the Christians at Ephesus, that G.o.d would grant them 'to be strengthened with might by his Spirit;' and they were common people. And the Bible says 'Be strong in the Lord and in the power of his might;'--we aren't bid to be strong in ourselves; but here again, 'Strengthened with might, according to his glorious power, unto all patience and long-suffering with joyfulness.' Won't that do?" said Faith softly.

"Have you put marks in all them places?" said the farmer.

"I will."

"If that don't do, I s'pose nothing will," said Mr. Simlins. "They're mighty words! And they've stopped _my_ mouth."

Faith was silently marking the places. The farmer sat looking at her.

"You do know the Scripturs--I can say that for you!" he remarked.

"No, Mr. Simlins!--" said Faith looking up suddenly, "I don't know this string of pa.s.sages of myself. Mr. Linden shewed them to me," she said more softly and blushing. She went on with what she was about.

"Well don't he say you like to speak truth rayther than anything else?"

said the farmer. "If he don't, I wouldn't give much for his discretion.

When's he going to have leave to take you away, Faith?" It was half sorrowfully spoken, and though Faith rose up and blushed, she did not answer him quickly.

"My business must take me away now, sir;--good night."

But Mr. Simlins shouted to Jem Waters, had the wagon up, put Faith in with infinite care and tenderness, and sent her home so.

One rainy, stormy, wild equinoctial day in the end of September--not long after that letter had come, Squire Stoutenburgh came to the door.

Faith heard him parleying with her mother for a minute--heard him go off, and then Mrs. Derrick entered the sitting-room, with her eyes full of tears and her heart, at least, full of a little package,--it did not quite fill her hands.

"Pretty child!" she said, "I'm so thankful!"--and she went straight off to the kitchen, and the little package lay in Faith's lap. The thick brown paper and wax and twine said it had come a long way. The rest the address told. It was a little square box, the opening of which revealed at first only soft cotton; except, in one corner, there was an indication of Faith's infallible blue ribband. Fastened to that, was a gold locket. Quite plain, alike on both sides, the tiny hinge at one edge spoke of a corresponding spring. That touched, Faith found Mr.

Linden. Admirably well done and like, even to the expression, which had probably struck the artist's fancy; for he had contrived to represent well both the pleasure and the pain Mr. Linden had felt in sitting for this picture, for such a reason. The dress was that of the German students--such as he was then wearing.

Faith had never guessed--till her wondering fingers had persuaded the locket to open--she had never guessed what she should find there; at the utmost she looked to find a lock of hair; and the joy was almost as overwhelming as a little while ago pain had been. Faith could hardly see the picture for a long time; she called herself foolish, but she cried and laughed the harder for joy; she reproached herself for past ungratefulness and motions of discontent, which made her not deserve this treasure; and the joy and the tears were but enhanced that way.

Faith could hardly believe her eyes, when they were clear enough to see; it seemed,--what they looked at,--too good to be true; too precious to be hers. But at last she was fain to believe it; and with blushes that n.o.body saw, and a tiny smile that it was a pity somebody _didn't_ see, she put the blue ribband round her neck and hid the locket where she knew it was expected to find its place. But Faith forgot her work, and her mother found her sitting there doing nothing, looking with dreamy happy thoughtfulness into distance, or into herself; all Miss Bezac's silks and stuffs neglected around her.

And work, diligent, happy, contented, continued, was the order of the day, and of many days and weeks after. Miss Bezac giving out that she would take as much work as was offered her, she and Faith soon had both their hands completely full. The taste and skill of the little dressmaker were so well acknowledged that even from Pequot there was now many an application for her services; and many a lady from there and from Pattaqua.s.set, came driven in a wagon or a sleigh to Miss Bezac's cottage door.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

It was the month

"When beechen buds begin to swell, And woods the blue bird's warble know,"--

the month of the unbending of Nature--of softening skies and swelling streams and much underground spring work. As for instance, by the daffodils; which by some unknown machinery pushed their soft, pliant leaves up through frozen clods into the sunshine. Blue birds fluttered their wings and trilled their voices through the air, song sparrows sang from morning to night, and waxwings whistled for cherries in the bare tree tops. There the wind whistled too, "whiles," with the fall approbation of snow birds and chickadees,--the three going out of fashion together.

It was a busy month at Miss Bezac's--two weddings at Pequot and one in Pattaqua.s.set kept her hands full,--and Faith's too. Just now the great point of interest was the outfit of Miss Maria Davids--the wedding dress, especially, being of the most complicate and ornamented description. Miss Bezac and Faith needed their heads as well as their hands, Miss Maria's directions with regard to flowers and furbelows being somewhat like the Vicar of Wakefield's in respect of sheep--only Miss Maria was willing to pay for all that went on, whereas the Vicar wanted the sheep for nothing.

Thus they stood, the two friends and co-workers, with the dress spread out on a table, contriving where the flowers should go and how many it would be possible to put on. Miss Maria's box of Pequot flowers on a chair near by, was as full as her directions.

"It would be better to take the box and turn it right over her after she's dressed, and let 'em stick where they would!" said Miss Bezac in some disgust. Whereupon, dropping her grave look of thought, Faith's laugh broke up the monotony of the occasion.

"Well _that's_ good any way," said Miss Bezac. "And I'm sure everything's 'any way' about this dress. But I won't have you about it a bit longer,--you're tired to death standing up."

"I'm not much tired. Miss Bezac, let the lilacs have the bottom of the dress, and the roses and lilies of the valley trim the body.--And it will be like a spotted flower-garden then!" said Faith laughing anew.

How little like her occupation she looked,--with her brown stuff dress, to be sure, as plain as possible; her soft brown hair also plain; her quaint little white ruffles; and that brilliant diamond ring flashing wherever her hand went! N.B. A plain dress on a pretty person has not the effect of plainness, since it lets that better be seen which is the highest beauty.

Up Miss Bezac's mountain road came a green coach drawn by two fat grey horses; the coachman in front and the footman behind being in the same state of plethoric comfort. They addressed themselves to the hill with no hasty approbation yet with much mind to have their own way, and the hill yielded the ground step by step. At Miss Bezac's door hill and horses made a pause.

"Coaches already!" said Miss Bezac,--"that's a sign of summer, as good as wild geese. And you'd think, Faith, not having had much experience, that it was the sign of another wedding dress--but nothing worse than a calico wrapper ever comes out of a coach like that."

"Why?"--said Faith looking amused.