"I s'pose you think folks have nothing to do but talk about you now.

You're a long way out!"--was the careless answer.

"What did you say I said?" said Reuben.

"I never heard you say anything, as I know, that was worth tellin'

over. When I do, I'll let somebody know it, I tell _you_."

"I suppose that means that you won't answer my question," said Reuben.

"What I want to know is, not what I said, but what you say I said."

"About what?"

"About Miss Faith Derrick."

"I don't say you said nothing about her--I never heard you call her name, as I know."

"Like enough," said Reuben, with a sort of resolute patience; "but what did you say I said that had to do with her in any way?"

"Who do you think you air?" said Phil.

"I tell you what, Phil Davids," said Sam Stoutenburgh, who had heard the last question or two, "if you don't keep your tongue off Miss Derrick, I'll pitch you up into a pine tree so far that you'll see stars before you come down--or I'm not Stoutenburgh nor stout, neither!" and Sam--who was a little of a young giant--backed Phil up against the tree that was nearest in a sort of preparatory way that was rather breathless. Phil however was as tough as shoe leather.

"Suppos'n you keep eyes off her, then," said he struggling. "It's a poor rule that don't work both ways."

"What have you been about?" said Sam,--"come, own up for once--just to try how it feels."

"What have _you?_" said Phil. "I aint up to half as many shines as you, Sam Stoutenburgh."

"I should think not!" said Sam disdainfully.

"O let him alone, Sam!" said Reuben--"what's the use?"

"Little enough use--" said Sam, "or matter either,--everybody knows Phil Davids. Pity he wouldn't make his own acquaintance!" And releasing his prisoner Sam turned disdainfully and Reuben sorrowfully towards the house. But Reuben did not go very near. A wistful look or two towards the lighted front and the cl.u.s.tering guests, and he paused, leaving Sam to go on alone.

Sam's bashfulness was happily not of the uncompromising kind, therefore he not only found Faith, but she found him--ready to claim her promise--the very moment she was ready to go.

"But I don't know whether the wagon is here, Sam," said Faith. Other wagons were come, and driving off, and a little procession of colours was setting forth on foot, up and down the street from Judge Harrison's. The hall was full of people, getting hoods on and taking leave.

"Well, Miss Faith," said Sam, "we can walk to where it ought to be, and if it isn't there maybe you'll let me go further."

"But I can't go without seeing my mother, Sam, and I don't know where she is."

"Sam Stoutenburgh!" said Mr. Linden's voice, while the speaker laid both hands on the boy's shoulders, "what are you about?"

"Miss Faith said I might go as far as the wagon with her, sir," said Sam looking down.

"The wagon is not here," said Mr. Linden,--"Mr. Skip is probably asleep."

"Then I may see you home, Miss Faith?" was the joyous comment.

"Sam Stoutenburgh!" said Mr. Linden again, preventing Faith's reply, and giving Sam a gentle shake. "Isn't one favour a day enough for you?"

he added presently.

"No sir!" said Sam boldly.

"I suppose I must give way before a blue ribband," said Mr. Linden smiling, yet as if he was much inclined to lift Sam out of the way.

"Miss Faith, the matter is in your hands."

But Faith did not smile, and looked, or was it his fancy?--ever so little careworn.

"What matter, Mr. Linden?" she said simply.

"Whether you will take charge of this boy as far as his father's gate.

I will try and take care of you, after that."

"Will that do, Sam?" said Faith pleasantly, as she threw her scarf over her head.

"I'm glad to go any distance with you, Miss Faith," said Sam, but half content--or a quarter! for that was the distance a.s.signed him.

"Well behave yourself then," said Mr. Linden, removing his hands. A parting injunction Sam's dignity would have dispensed with.

CHAPTER XV.

The evening was very still. A little too cool for insect voices, a little too late in the season for night birds, the soft dropping of the yellow leaves scarce stirred those already fallen. Few sounds came from the houses; for all Pattaqua.s.set had been out, and that portion which had got home was tired and thinking of bed, while the few stragglers yet abroad were far from the late scene of action, on their lonely homeward roads. Squire Deacon, with Joe for a thorn in his side, was opening his own door for Miss Cecilia, and Miss Bethia Bezac, at 'the other side of creation,' mused over the possibility of again (without eyes) embroidering waistcoats. Thus when the clock struck eight, the earth seemed asleep and the stars at watch over it.

At about that point of time, Sam Stoutenburgh and his fair companion were near the parting gate; and Sam, not supposing himself within range of other eyes, had bent down over Faith's glove in a very demonstrative manner; and she would certainly have received an unwonted proof of his devotion, if Mr. Linden--who had in truth been all the time not very far off--had not just then been very near.

"Take care, Sam--" he said,--"you are exceeding directions." A remark which sent Sam through the gate with more haste than coolness, while Mr. Linden stepped forward into his place.

"Your mother rode home with Mrs. Somers, Miss Faith, and this little shawl was requested to walk home with you," he said, wrapping it round her; for which he received a quiet little "Thank you." He put her hand on his arm, and once past the gate walked very slowly; moderating his steps to hers, and taking the most leisurely pace; perhaps to give her the full sedative effect of the night. Those faint breaths of air, that soft hush of everything, that clear starry sky,--so high, so still,--there was balm in them all.

And for a while Mr. Linden let them do their work alone,--then he spoke.

"One of my scholars is very tired to night. I'm afraid I have done wrong in letting her walk home."

"O no!" said Faith with a little start,--"I like to walk very much, Mr.

Linden; it's very pleasant.--And I am not tired," she added in a soft quiet voice.

"What is the difference between being tired, and being in want of rest?"

She looked at him again, and her words did not come at once.

"I suppose the difference is, that in one case you can get what you want--and in the other, you have to wait for it."

"Till when?"