"Yes," said Mr. Linden; "but I never saw such a piece of ground, yet."

Mr. Simlins paused.

"Do you believe some folks can be better than they air already?" he asked.

"I believe all folks can."

"You believe in cameras, then. How're you goin' to work?"

"To make people better?--set them to work for them selves, if I can."

"What sort o' ploughs and harrows would you want 'em to take hold of?"

"They'll find out, when they set to work in earnest to make the ground yield the right sort of fruit," said Mr. Linden.

"What do you call the right sort?" said the farmer, now thoroughly engaged. "Aint as good as a man can do, the right sort?"

"Why yes," said Mr. Linden again, "but I tell you I never saw that sort of fruit ripe--and I'm not sure that I ever shall in this world. For the best fruit that the ground can yield, includes not only the best seed and cultivation, but the perfect keeping down of every weed, and the unchecked receiving of all sweet heavenly influences."

"That's a camera!" said Mr. Simlins something shortly. "You can't have all that in this world."

"The fact that people cannot be perfect in this world, does not hinder their being better than they are."

"Well, I say, how're you goin' to work to make it, when they're doin'

the best they can do, already?"

"Who is?"

"I am inclined to be of the opinion you air," said Mr Simlins slowly.

"I won't say I be--but I don't know how to do no better."

"Thank you, Mr. Simlins--" was the somewhat sorrowful reply,--"you may see what I do, but you do not see what I know. And for you, my friend--pray to know!--there can be no mistakes in the advice that comes from heaven."

There was a minute's silence, till they came to a turning.

"I'd be glad to see you," said Mr. Simlins in a somewhat lowered tone,--"ary one of you--down to my house, any time. _You_ can take care of her the rest of the way. Good night!"--

He turned off abruptly down a road that led his way.

They had been walking with slackened steps during this conversation, and the lingering memory of it still checked the pace of the two now left together:

"Silence accompanied; for beast and bird, They to their gra.s.sy couch, these to their nests,"

had all retreated. And when Mr. Linden spoke, it was not in his own words.

"'I thank thee, uncreated Sun, That thy bright beams on me have shined!

I thank thee, who hast overthrown My foes, and healed my wounded mind!

I thank thee, whose enlivening voice Bids my freed heart in thee rejoice!

"'Thee will I love, my joy, my crown!

Thee will I love, my Lord, my G.o.d!

Thee will I love--beneath thy frown Or smile, thy sceptre or thy rod!

What though my flesh and heart decay, Thee shall I love in endless day!'"

The silence of the evening fell again unbroken. Unless a breath caught somewhat interruptedly--so gentle a break--might be said to break it.

Faith said nothing, except by that caught breath. Mr. Linden's step was the only one heard. Silently then he gave her his arm, and they went on at a quicker pace.

After a while Faith broke the silence. She spoke in a very quiet voice; as if choosing her words; and hesitated a little sometimes as if timidity checked her.

"Mr. Linden, I want to ask you about something that troubles me--I don't know what is right. I know I know very little--I know I cannot say much or can't say it well--but I feel sometimes as if I must speak to everybody I can reach, and tell them what I do know, and beg them to be safe and happy. And then something tells me that if I do so, people will think me crazy, or be offended,--that it is not my business and I can't do it well and that I had better not try to do it at all.--Is that 'something' right or wrong?"

"'Let him that heareth, say Come,'" Mr. Linden replied. "It is part of the sailing orders of every Christian to speak every other vessel that he can,--which does not mean that he should go out of his own proper course to meet them, nor that he should run them down when met."

"Nor, I suppose," said Faith, "that he should trouble himself about his voice being very low or very hoa.r.s.e. I thought so. Thank you, Mr.

Linden."

"The voice of true loving interest is generally sweet--and rarely gives offence," he said. "If people never spoke of religious things but from the love of them, there would be an end to cant and bad taste in such matters."

She said no more.

"How does Charles twelfth behave?" said Mr. Linden as they neared home.

"Has he 'reacted' again--or does he give you both hands full?"

"He behaved nicely!" said Faith. "As to filling my hands, I suppose they wouldn't hold a great deal to-day; but I hope to have them fuller before long."

"Then I may send you another scholar?"

"O yes!" said Faith. "Have you one for me?"

"Perhaps two, if circ.u.mstances make my hands too full."

"Do I know them?"

"I am not sure how well, nor whether you know them at all by name; but you will like to teach them for different reasons. At least I have."

"I don't know"--said Faith. "If you have taught them, Mr. Linden, they will be very sorry to come to me!"

"Then you may have the pleasure of making them glad."

She laughed a little, but soberly; and they reached their own gate.

It was past the usual Sunday tea time; and soon the little party were gathered at that pleasantest, quietest of tea-tables--that which is spread at the close of a happy Sunday. It had been such to two at least of the family sitting there, albeit Faith's brow was unusually grave; and it had not been _un_happy to Mrs. Derrick. She entered, by hope and sympathy, too earnestly and thoroughly into everything that concerned Faith--rested too much of her everyday life upon her, to be unhappy when _she_ smiled.

After tea, as he often did, Mr. Linden went out again; and the two were left alone. Mrs. Derrick occupied herself with reading in the old family Bible, where she turned over leaf after leaf; but Faith, on a low seat, sat looking into the remains of the little fire which had been kindled in the supper room. Looking at the glowing coals and grey flickering ashes, with a very grave, meditative, thoughtful gaze.

"Mother--" she said at length, turning her face towards Mrs. Derrick's Bible.