"I don't call that a good sort," said Mr. Linden,—then looking round with a little smile he said, "You ought to say 'sort o' good.'"
Faith looked serious and as if she felt half rebuked.
"But," she said, "you would not call that a bad sort?"
"Then you mean that he is in the same road with what you call the best people, only not so far advanced?"
"No," said Faith doubtfully, "I don't mean so much as that.—I don't think Mr. Simlins is in the same road with you."
"How many best roads are there to the same place? As for instance—does it matter which of these two I take to the shore?"
"Only one leads to the shore," said Faith.
"Yet they seem to lie near together at the outset. The same is true of the 'other shore.'"
Faith sat back in her place with a face exceedingly unlike a young lady who was going to a merry-making.
But they were near the shore now; not only the salt smell proclaimed it, but they could see the various bathing and other houses collected at the place, and the flag which floated high from the flag-staff, telling all who were not concerned that it was a gala day. A piece of ground immediately surrounding these buildings was fenced in; as they neared the gate, it was opened for them, and a tall farmer-looking man, whose straw hat shaded a sensible face, nodded as they passed.
"That is Mr. Simlins!" said Faith.
Mr. Simlins seemed for the present to be king of the castle. Horses there were, and wagons, standing here and there, and one or two oldish faces looked out from the windows of one long shanty; but the rest of the birds had flown—into the water! It was the time of low tide, and the long strips of rippling water which lay one beyond the other, were separated by sand banks nearly as long. In these little tide lakes were the bathers,—the more timid near shore, taking almost a sand bath; the more adventurous going further and further out, till the last party bathed beyond the last sand bank. Not dressed in the latest Cape May fashion, nor the latest fashion of any kind; for each had brought some dress too old to be hurt with salt water. Calico frocks, of every hue and pattern,—caps, hand kerchiefs, sun-bonnets,—gave additional force to the cries and shouts and screams which were wafted inshore.
But when they began to come in!—and when the bathing dresses were hung on the fence to dry!—and when mermaid visions appeared at the windows!—who shall describe the scene then? Over all, a blue smoke now began to curl and float, rising from the stove-pipe of the eating-house.
Mr. Linden had driven up to one of the fence posts, and fastening his horse stood a while watching the show, till the bathers began to draw in from the water. Then helped the ladies out.
"Which of these baskets contains my tea, Miss Faith?" he said. "I feel a particular interest in that basket."
"Perhaps your tea is in some other basket," said Faith; "but both of these must come into the eating-house. O, thank you, Mr. Linden!"
The eating-house was a long shanty, built for the express purpose of feasting picnic and other parties. At one end of it, within the house, was a well of excellent water; at the other end a door opened into a cooking-house, which held a stove; and through the length of the apartment a narrow table of boards was erected, ready to be covered with any description and any succession of table-cloths. In this room Mr. Linden with Faith's help deposited her baskets; while Miss Danforth looked on. At the door of the shanty coming out they met Mr. Simlins. Faith made the introductions.
"Happy to have your acquaintance," said Mr. Simlins. "This is a piece of Pattaquasset, sir, that we all of us rather cord'ally like. You haven't seen it before?"
"Yes, I don't wonder you like it," said Mr. Linden. "The sea-shore is no novelty to me, sir—such a shore party is."
"I hope you'll enjoy it, as the rest of us do. We all do as we like, Mr. Linden—I hope you'll use the grounds as your own. We have the flag flying, sir, and it ratifies liberty to all who amuse themselves under it."
Mr. Linden looked up at the stars and stripes, with an acknowledging smile for the benefits thereby conferred.
"Faith! Faith Derrick!" called out half a dozen mermaids from the bathing house; and Faith was obliged to go,—while her companions walked up the green slope, and entered into a deep discussion of the crops and the weather.
A while after, when Faith was busy about the supper table—twenty young voices chiming around her, another voice that she did not know spoke close at her elbow.
"Miss Faith—I am Reuben Taylor. Mr. Linden told me to come to you and make myself useful. Is there any thing I can do?—would you like some round clams?—Father's out there in the boat."
The earnest eyes said how gladly he would do 'any thing.'
"Who is your father?" said Faith, a little surprised.
"My father's a fisherman."
"The very thing!" said Faith—"if you'll help me roast 'em, Reuben. I guess nobody else'll want to do it, but I'd just as lieve. Can you have 'em here quickly? and I'll see and have the stove ready."
"O I'll fetch 'em—and roast 'em too, Miss Faith. I'm used to it," he added, with a half bashful half admiring glance at her face.
Faith had the fire ready by the time Reuben returned with the clams. The kettle was on to boil, and nothing else was wanted of the fire, as it happened, by anybody; least of all to roast clams, that necessarily making a kitchen prisoner of the roaster; so Faith and her new coadjutor had the field—i.e. the cooking house—all to themselves. Miss Danforth was to leave Pattaquasset in a day or two, and was busy talking to everybody. Readily the clams opened their shells on the hot stove-top; savourily the odour of steaming clam juice spread itself abroad; but Faith and Reuben were 'in' for it, and nobody else cared to be in.
So when Miss Cecilia Deacon had finished her toilet, which was somewhat of the longest, as it had been one of the latest, she found nobody but her brother to apply to on the score of her hostess duties.
"Sam!" said the young lady pinching her brother's arm,—"I haven't been introduced to Mr. Linden."
"He'll keep," was the encouraging reply.
"Yes, but supper won't. See, Sam!—I haven't been introduced to him, and I must."
The Squire nodded his head politely, and began to whistle.
"Come!—you Sam—you've got to, and in a hurry. I can't find Faith, orI'd make her."
"Well—I can't find him," said the Squire pettishly. "I haven't got neither of 'em in my pocket—nor the crown of my hat," he added, taking off that useful article of dress for the express purpose of looking into it. "My deliberate judgment is to have supper."
"Don't be a goose, Sam! What's the use of asking him, if you didn't mean to conduct yourself?"
"Didn't ask him."
"Who did?"
"I didn't hear anybody," was the Squire's reply.
"Don't you mean to introduce me, Sam Deacon?" said his sister in a tone which was rather over the verge of patience.
"Jem Williams!" said the Squire, calling up a spruce embodiment of blue cloth, brass buttons, and pink cravat,—"I say! here's Cilly off the hooks to get hold of the new teacher. Whereabouts do you s'pose he is?"
"Really Squire!" said Jem Williams, with a silly little laugh, "I couldn't testify! Reckon he knows Miss Cilly 'd keep hold on him ef she got a chance!"
"Sha'n't speak to you in a month, Jem!" said the lady with a toss of her head and some heightening of the really pretty colour in her cheeks. "You may fix it as you've a mind to, among you, and let anybody that likes bring him in to supper! I'm going in, out of the way, myself."
Whither she went, on the spur, as good as her word; nor shewed her pretty face again outside.
Meanwhile Reuben and Faith had worked on through their basket of clams, and now the last were sputtering on the stove.