"Do you think she will?" said Mr. Linden demurely.

"What is the other, Endy?--You said three."

"The other, love, is from those very White Mountains you are going to see. Another friend writes the letter,--one who has built himself a nest there for summer migrations. It is a strange place, Faith, by all accounts--I have never been to that part of the mountains. A scattered population, sprinkled about on the hills like their own dewberries, and to be found in much the same manner. Neither church nor chapel, but only an unused schoolhouse--of which Mr. Olyphant prays I will come and take possession. Snow and frost, the valleys and the everlasting hills--that would be your society."

Faith's eyes were raised now and met Mr. Linden's. Grave, as one who felt the weight of the question to be settled; but with a brow unshadowed, and eyes unfearing. A child's look still!

"Mr. Olyphant says there could not be better air for my bird to sing in," he went on with a smile,--"there was one great objection to the place in Pennsylvania. How does this seem to you, dear Faith?--it is rather on a spur of the mountains--not absolutely shut in. Then I am not sure how much society you would have but mine,--what do you think of it, in comparison with Newport?"

She answered at first with a rare little smile, so happy in its grave trust, and which withal a little significantly deferred the question.

"I know you will go where you think you ought to go. Endy--I don't know about places."

"I doubt whether I shall grant more than half of Mr. Alcott's request,"

said Mr. Linden. "I suppose if George has not got home I may venture to grant that. Faith, it is a very singular fact that everybody falls in love with you."

To judge by Faith's blush, it was a somewhat painful "fact." "Whom are you talking of?" she said doubtfully.

"The present occasion of my remark is George Alcott--said to be absent on a crusade of search after a pair of eyes he saw in Pattaqua.s.set."

"I don't know him," said Faith laughing a little; but instantly recurring to business she asked very earnestly, "Then, Endy, you think you will go to that place in the mountains?--or haven't you made up your mind?"

"I am inclined to that one, of the three--I cannot say my mind is absolutely made up. It has had so much else to do since I came home!

Faith, do you mean to have any bridesmaids?"

Faith jumped up off her rock. "Endy, I want to run down and look at these little fish. And it's growing late, besides!"--

"Yes, but, you must answer me first," said Mr. Linden laughing and holding her fast. "It is needful I should know beforehand, because they will want supporters, if I do not."

"I don't want any, Endy," said Faith with cheeks like two pink roses, but standing very still now.

"Then come and shew me the fish. Don't you think it would be gladsome work to seek out those untaught and uncared for people up in the mountains?"

They had come down to the rocks between and among which at low tide the sh.e.l.l fish played in an inch or two of water; and sitting on one of the mossy stones Faith was watching the mimic play of evil pa.s.sions which was going on among that tribe of Mollusca below her; but her mind was on something else.

"I read the other day," she said, "those words of Paul, where he says to the Thessalonians 'we were allowed of G.o.d _to be put in trust with the gospel_'.--They made me very happy--they make me happy now. What I thought of in connexion with them, I mean."

"And what was that?"

"That they are your words too,"--she said after looking up as if she thought her meaning must be known.--"And that even I--have something to do," she added lower.

Mr. Linden stood by her, looking off at the rippling waves, then down at his fair little helper. "Yes, Faith--it is a glorious thing to have any part of that work in trust,--and the part which makes least show may be no less in reality. 'In trust'!" he repeated, looking off again.

"Such beautiful words!--such terrible."

"No!"--she said with a smile,--"I don't think so."

"Nor I, dear, from your point of view. But in the world, Faith, where you have been so little, I have seen the words of the trust to be boundless--the faithfulness of the trustees within very narrow limits.

And to be always ready to 'sow beside all waters'--who is? 'Freely ye have received, freely give,' is the command--but what Christian sees with half perception what he has received!"

Faith paused and looked thoughtful, and then smiled again. "I always think of the words you read to me one day,--'Only be thou strong and very courageous,--for the Lord, thy G.o.d is with thee, whithersoever thou goest.'"--

The answering look told that if Mr. Linden's words had not been said for the purpose of drawing her out, they had at least served that purpose.

"You are a dear little Sunbeam!" he said. "Acting out your name, as I told you long ago. There is nothing needful to get _you_ ready for the White Mountains but a fur cloak. Now come--it is growing late, as you say."

It was a late tea-time when they got home. They sat down to tea and Faith had not told her mother yet! which she remembered with a somewhat uneasy mind. There was nothing uneasy about the third member of the family!--the poise and balance of the white strawberries upon each other was not more complete than the resting adjustment of all his thoughts.

"Mrs. Derrick," he said as she handed him his cup of tea, "what do you consider the prettiest time of day?"

"The prettiest time of day?" Mrs. Derrick repeated,--"do you mean when the day looks best--or the people? I'm sure I don't know, Mr.

Linden,--I never watch anybody from morning to night but Faith."

"I am talking of Faith--or what concerns her."

"O well all times of day are alike to her," said her mother fondly,--"she's just as pretty one time as another,--and one day as another. Only the days when she used to get letters."

"Mignonette," said Mr. Linden, "when should I have heard such a piece of news from you?"

"I never knew it before," said Faith.

"How many hours does she need for a morning toilette?" said he, pursuing his researches.

"Hours!" said Mrs. Derrick--"you'd better say minutes. It's less than an hour, commonly."

"But I mean uncommonly."

Mrs. Derrick looked thoroughly puzzled. But Faith had got the key, and hopeless of stopping Mr. Linden she thought the next best thing was to expedite matters.

"When I take longest, mother,"--she suggested in a low voice.

"How long would she need to arrange orange flowers to her satisfaction--" said Mr. Linden,--"or white muslin?"

"O!--" said Mrs. Derrick setting down the teapot with her cup half filled. "I didn't know what you _were_ talking about."

"I am talking about next Thursday," said Mr. Linden, with a gay gentleness of manner. "Because we have decided--or I have--that Thursday is to be the prettiest day of the week, and now we want to choose the prettiest time of day."

A little flush came into Mrs. Derrick's quiet face,--she said not a word.

"You are willing it should be then?" Mr. Linden said.

The mother's "yes" was very firm and clear, and yet not in just her usual tone. That came back a minute after with the relief which a thought of business always brings.

"That dress isn't made!" she said. Mr. Linden's "Faith!--" was expressive.

"I knew that it could be done in a day at any time, Endecott,"--said Faith, very grave and flushed. "It is up stairs in my drawer, mother."

"Kept there by what piece of superst.i.tion?" he said smiling. "Did you think if you made it up that I would never come back?"