"What would you say to me, Miss Danforth, if I professed to be fond of teaching some people some things? Miss Faith, that last lump of sugar was potent."
"What sort of people, and what sort of things, for instance?" said the lady.
"The things I know best, and the people who think they know least—for instance," he replied.
"I should say you know definitions," was Miss Danforth's again goodhumoured rejoinder.
"What did you say was the matter with the sugar, sir?" said Faith.
"I said it was potent, Miss Faith,—or I might have said, powerful. But indeed it was not the sugar's fault—the difficulty was, there was not enough coffee to counterbalance it."
"I put in too much!" said Faith, making a regretful translation of this polite speech.
"Yes"—said Mr. Linden with great solemnity as he set down the empty cup,—"but too much sugar is at least not a common misfortune. With what appreciation I shall look back to this, some day when I have not enough! What did you think of the sunrise this morning?"
"Do you mean, because the sky was covered with clouds?" said Faith. "But there was enough—the sun looked through; and the colours were beautiful. Did you see them?"
"I wonder when you did, child?" said Miss Danforth;—"up to your elbows in butter!"
"Yes, I saw them. Then you are true to your name, Miss Faith, and find 'enough' in a cloudy sky?—Pray, Miss Danforth, what depth of butter does a churning yield in this region?"
"I guess," said Miss Danforth laughing, "you never saw much of farmer's work—did you?"
"Is butter-making farmer's work?" said Mr. Linden with a face of grave inquiry.
"Here's the trustys"—said Cindy opening the door; "at least that's what they said they be, but I'm free to confess 'tain't nobody but Squire Deacon and Parson Somers."
"Do they want me?" said Mr. Linden looking round.
"I guess likely"—said Cindy. "The Squire does come here to see MissFaith, but I guess 'tain't her he wants this time."
And Cindy vanished.
"What do the trustees want?" said Miss Danforth.
"Upon the testimony of Cinderella, they want me," said Mr. Linden. "Miss Faith, may I have a glass of water?—What they want to do with me, Miss Danforth, is a little uncertain."
"Well," said Miss Danforth, "I think you'll be able to prevent them!"
He rose to take the glass from Faith's hand, and then merely inquiring whether the ladies were coming to second him, left the room.
Parson Somers was a young-looking, good-looking, affable gentleman, who pressed the ladies' hands very cordially and was very happy to see them. Squire Deacon was younger, and likewise good looking, but affability he had never been charged with. Over the handsome cut of face, the strong well-built figure, he wore a manner as rough as a bear's great-coat; only at some times and for some people the roughness was brushed down. It never would stay, any more than the various elegant phrases with which Deacon sometimes seasoned his speech, would take root there and spread.
"Quite an agreeable variation," said Mr. Somers,—"ha—in such a place as Pattaquasset—to have a new arrival among us. Mr. Linden—I hope you will like our little town. You have a pleasant experience of us to begin with."
"Yes but, Parson, don't make him think we're all like some," saidSquire Deacon,—and as he turned towards Faith the beaming of his faceseemed almost reflected in his brass buttons. "Dreadful gloomy morning,Miss Faith!"
"Mr. Linden has probably seen too much of the world," said Mr. Somers,—"not to know that—ha!—too great a preponderance of good is not to be looked for."
"May as well look for as much as you can find," said Miss Danforth. "A good deal's lost by not looking for it."
"Ah," said the Squire, with another glance at Faith, "it's not so hard to find things, neither, Miss Danforth. You remember Sinbad the sailor lookin' down into the vale of diamonds?"
"Don't remember him a bit. What did he see there?"
"Nothin' but diamond jewellery," said Squire Deacon in a sentimental tone. "Miss Faith, you doubtless recollect the tale?"
"I hope," said Mr. Somers,—"ha!—friend Deacon—you don't mean thatMr. Linden should look for a valley of diamonds in Pattaquasset?"
"Whereabouts does the valley lie, sir?" said Mr. Linden.
But the Squire, as if a new idea had struck him, replied somewhat brusquely,
"It don't lie nowheres, sir, nowheres but in fancy's field."
"I suppose," said Mr. Somers smiling blandly, "Mr. Linden's peculiar course of business don't lead him much into that field."
"You can strike into it 'most anywhere," said Miss Danforth. "Mr. Linden's an early man—he'll find the valley of diamonds, if it's in the town."
"Miss Faith told me there were stones enough here," he said, "but she did not hint that any of them were precious."
"We shall expect," said Mr. Somers, "to see some of our stones—I mean, some of our hard heads and thick heads—grow precious, or—a—improve!—under Mr. Linden's management."
"Pray sir," said Squire Deacon, suddenly recollecting that he was a 'trusty,' "what do you consider the best plan for the instruction of youth? what is your method?"
Mr. Linden looked contemplatively out of the window.
"I think sir, if the boys are very rough I should first teach them manners. If they are smoother boys, I should teach them spelling,—if they have already learned spelling, I should let them read."
The Squire bowed.
"Quite satisfactory, sir. Mr. Somers—I think perhaps Mr. Linden would like to visit our little temple of litteratur."
"I should be very gratified to accompany Mr. Linden in viewing so much of Pattaquasset. I trust, Mr. Linden, that the highest—ha—the moral and religious teaching, of the youth here, will not be quite overlooked in your system."
The reply that first rose to Mr. Linden's lips came not forth. He checked himself—rather perhaps in deference to the subject than anything else, and simply answered,
"I trust not, sir."
And with many low bows from the Squire, the two gentlemen went into the hall, Mr. Linden following. But he came back the next moment to ask the dinner hour.
"We are as apt to have it at noon as any time," said Faith. "Will that do, Mr. Linden? we could have it later."
"That will do perfectly. Only if the 'temple of literature' opens and swallows me up, Miss Faith, don't wait—that's all."
And with a smile that was a strong contrast to the face he had bestowed upon the trustees, he went after them.
CHAPTER III
Monday morning came, with its hands full of work. They were willing hands that were outstretched to receive the load,—strong hands too, and skilful; but it may be, better suited to other work. Certainly as the days passed Endecott's gravity took a deeper tinge, and his words became fewer. Still maintaining his morning walk, and a like tasting of the air at night,—ever punctual at meals, and when there displaying an unruffled equanimity and cheerfulness,—the even tones of his voice shewed sometimes a little weariness, and his step grew more thoughtful. And so the week rolled on, and the afternoon sun of Friday began to near the horizon.
It was a warm afternoon, soft and balmy; a little haze on the sky, the least veil upon the Mong's further shore; the summer roses hanging their heads, heavy with sleep and sweetness. The honeysuckles on the porch grew sweeter and sweeter as the sun went down, and the humming-birds dipped into those long flagons, or poised them selves in mid-air for a survey.
In the porch sat