Volume Ii Part 82 (1/2)

”From sea!--half way across--” her mother repeated. ”Why child, what are you talking about? You don't mean that Mr. Linden's contrived to make a letter swim back here already, do you?”

Faith hardly heard. A minute she stood, with her eyes very like what Mr. Motley had graphically described them to be, breaking the seal with hurried fingers,--and then ran away. The breakfast table and Mrs.

Derrick waited--they waited a long time before Faith came back to eat a cold breakfast, which tasted of nothing but sea-breezes and was therefore very strengthening. The strengthening effect went through the day; there was a fresh colour in Faith's face. Fifty times at least the ”moonbeams” of her eyes saw a ”strong hand” throw her packet across the sea waves that separated the two steamers; the master of the ”Polar Bear” might guess, but Faith knew, that a strong heart had done it as well. And when her work was over Faith put a rose in her belt in honour of the day, and sat down to her books, very happy.

The books were engrossing, and it was later than usual when she came down stairs to get tea, but Mrs. Derrick was out. That wasn't very strange. Faith went through the little routine of preparation,--then she took another book and sat down by the sweet summer air of the open window to wait. By and by Mrs. Derrick came slowly down the road, opened and shut the gate with the same air of abstracted deliberateness, and came up the steps looking tired and flushed. In the porch Faith met and kissed her.

”Where have you been now, mother? tea's ready.”

”Pretty child!” was Mrs. Derrick's answer, ”how glad I am you got that letter this morning!”

Faith smiled; _she_ didn't forget it, but it was not to be expected that it should be quite so present to Mrs. Derrick's mind. Yet almost at the same instant she felt that her mother had some particular reason for saying that just then.

”Where have you been, mother?”

”Up to Squire Stoutenburgh's,” said Mrs. Derrick, putting herself wearily in the rocking-chair,--”and they were all out gone--to Pequot to spend the day. So I lost my labour.”

Gently Faith stood before her and took off her bonnet. ”What did you go there for, mother?”

”I wanted to see him--” said Mrs. Derrick. ”Squire Deacon's been here, Faith.”

”Mother! Is he back again?--What for?”

”Settle here and live, I suppose. He's married--that's one thing. What was he here for?--why the old story, Faith,--he wants the place.” And Mrs. Derrick's eyes looked as if she wanted it too.

”Does he want it very much, mother?”

”Means to have it, child--and I don't feel as if I could live in any other house in Pattaqua.s.set. So I thought maybe Mr. Stoutenburgh would make him hold off till next year, Faith,” said Mrs. Derrick, a little smile coming back to her lips. ”I guess I'll go up again after tea.”

Faith coaxed her mother into the other room and gave her her tea daintily; revolving in her mind the while many things. When tea was over and Mrs. Derrick was again bent upon business, Faith ventured a question. ”Mother, what do you suppose Squire Stoutenburgh can do to help us?”

”I can't tell, child,--he might talk Sam Deacon into letting us keep the house, at least. We've got to live somewhere, you know, Faith. It's no sort of use for me to talk to him,--he's as stiff as a crab tree--and I aint. I think I'll try.”

”To-night, mother?”

”I thought I would.”

Faith hesitated, putting the cups together. ”Mother, I'll go. I dare say I shall do as well.”

”I'm afraid you're tired too, pretty child,” said Mrs. Derrick, but with evident relief at the very idea.

”I tired?--Never,” said Faith. ”You rest, mother--and don't fear,” she added, kissing her. ”I'll put on my bonnet--and be there and back again in a little while.”

The summer twilight was falling grey, but Faith knew she could have a guardian to come home; and besides the road between the two houses was thickly built up and perfectly safe. The evening glow was almost gone, the stars faintly gleaming out in the blue above; a gentle sea breeze stirred the branches and went along with Faith on her errand. Now was this errand grievously unpleasing to Faith, simply because of the implication of that _one year_ of reprieve which she must ask for. How should she manage it? But her way was clear; she must manage it as she could.

Spite of this bugbear, she had gone with a light free step all along her road, walking rather quick; for other thoughts had kept her company, and the image of her little flying packet shot once and again through her mind. At length she came to Mr. Stoutenburgh's gate, and Faith's foot paused. Light shone through the muslin curtains; and as her step neared the front door the broken sounds of voices and laughter came unwelcomely through. A most unnecessary formality her knock was, but one of the children came to the door and ushered her at once into the tea-room, where the family were waiting for their late tea. Mrs.

Stoutenburgh--looking very pretty in her light summer dress--was half reclining on the sofa, professing that she was tired to death, but quite failing to excite any sympathy thereby in the group of children who had not seen her since morning. The Squire himself walked leisurely up and down, with his hands behind him, sometimes laughing at the children sometimes helping on their play. Through the room was the full perfume of roses, and the lamplight could not yet hide the departing glow of the western horizon. Into this group and atmosphere little Linda brought the guest, with the simple announcement, ”Mother, it's Miss Faith.”

”Miss Faith!” Mrs. Stoutenburgh exclaimed, starting up and dispersing the young ones,--”Linda, you shall have a lump of sugar!--My dear other child, how do you do?--and what sweet corner of your little heart sent you up here to-night? You have not--no, that can't be,--and you wouldn't come here if you had. But dear Faith, how are you?”--and she was rescued from the Squire and carried off to the sofa to answer at her leisure. With a sort of blus.h.i.+ng, steadfast grace, which was common with her in the company of friends who were in her secret, Faith answered.

”And you haven't had tea yet,”--she said remorsefully. ”I came to give Mr. Stoutenburgh some trouble--but I can do it in three minutes.” Faith looked towards the Squire.

”My dear,” he said, ”it would take you three years!”