Volume Ii Part 82 (2/2)

”But Faith,” said Mrs. Stoutenburgh--”here comes the tea, and you can't go home without Mr. Stoutenburgh,--and nothing qualifies him for business like a contented state of his appet.i.te!”

Faith laughed and sat down again, and then was fain upon persuasion to take a place at the table, which was a joyous scene enough. Faith did little but fill a place; her mind was busy with thoughts that began to come pressingly; she tried not to have it seem so.

”My dear,” said the Squire as he helped Faith to raspberries, ”what fine weather we have had, eh?”

”Beautiful weather!”--Faith responded with a little energy.

”Papa,” said one of the children, ”do you think Mr. Linden's had it fine too?”

”What tangents children's minds go off in!” observed Mrs. Stoutenburgh.

”Faith! don't eat your raspberries without sugar,--how impatient you are. You used to preach patience to me when I was sick.”

”I can be very patient, with these raspberries and no sugar,” said Faith, wis.h.i.+ng she could hide the bloom of her cheeks as easily as she hid that of the berries under the fine white shower.

”Poor child!” said her friend gently,--”I think you have need of all your patience.” And her hands came softly about Faith's plate, removing enc.u.mbrances and adding dainties, with a sort of mute sympathy that at the moment could find no more etherial channel. ”Mr. Stoutenburgh drove down to Quapaw the other day,” she went on in a low voice, ”to ask those fis.h.i.+ng people what indications our land weather gave of the weather at sea; and--he couldn't half tell me about his visit when he came home,” said Mrs. Stoutenburgh, breaking short off in her account.

”Linda, go get that gla.s.s of white roses and set it by Miss Faith,--maybe she'll take them home with her.”

Faith looked at the white roses and smelled their sweetness; and then she said, ”Who did you see, Mr. Stoutenburgh?--down at Quapaw?”

”None of the men, my dear--they were all away, but I saw half the rest of the village; and even the children knew what report the men had brought in, and what _they_ thought of the weather. Everybody had a good word to say about it, Miss Faith; and everybody--I do believe!”

said the Squire reverently, ”had been on their knees to pray for it.

Jonathan Ling's wife said that was all they could ever do for him.”

Which p.r.o.noun, be it understood, did not refer to Jonathan Ling.

”They're Mr. Linden's roses, Miss Faith,” said little Linda, who stood waiting for more marked admiration,--”do you like them? He always did.”

Faith kissed the child, partly to thank her and to stop her lips, partly to hide her own which she felt were tale-telling.

”Where did you get the roses, Linda?”

”O off the bush in the garden. But Mr. Linden always picked one whenever he came, and sometimes he'd stop on his way to school, and just open the gate and get one of these white roses and then go away again. So we called it Mr. Linden's bush.” Faith endeavoured to attend to her raspberries after this. When tea was over she was carried off into the drawing-room and the children were kept out.

”If you want me away too, Faith,” Mrs. Stoutenburgh said as she arranged the lamp and the curtains, ”I'll go.”

”I don't want you to go, ma'am.”--And then covering her trepidation under the simplest of grave exteriors, Faith spoke to the point. ”It is mother's business. Squire Deacon has come home, Mr. Stoutenburgh.”

”My dear,” said the Squire, ”I know he has. I heard it just before you came in. But he's married, Miss Faith.”

”That don't content him,” said Faith, ”for he wants our farm.”

”Rascal!” said Mr. Stoutenburgh in an emphatic under tone,--”the old claim, I suppose. What's the state of it now, my dear?”

”Nothing new, sir; he has a right to it, I suppose. The mortgage is owing, and we haven't been able to pay anything but the interest, and that must be a small rent for the farm.” Faith paused. Mrs.

Stoutenburgh was silent; looking from one to the other anxiously,--the Squire himself was not very intelligible.

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