Say and Seal, Volume II

CHAPTER XX

Faith fortified herself with a triple wall of mental resolves against Dr. Harrison's advances. But when the doctor came again, a night or two after Thanksgiving, there did not seem to be much that she could do—or hinder. The doctor's lines of circumvallation were too skilfully drawn for an inexperienced warrior like Faith to know very well where to oppose him. He was not in a demonstrative mood at all; rather more quiet than usual. He had just pushed an advanced work in the shape of his golden cake; and he rested there for the present.

To Faith's great joy, midway in the evening the doctor's monopoly was broken by the entrance of Squire Stoutenburgh and a very round game of talk. Faith seized the opportunity to present her claim for a free library—answered with open hand on the spot. And when he was gone, she sat meditating a speech, but she was prevented. The doctor, as if unconsciously amusing himself, started a chymical question; and went on to give Faith a most exquisite analysis and illustration. It was impossible to listen coldly; it was impossible to maintain reserve. Faith must be herself, and delight shone in every feature. Now could Dr. Harrison enjoy this thoroughly and yet give no sign that he did so; his eye watched hers, while Faith thought he was looking into depths of science; his smile was a keen reflection of that on her lips, while she fancied it called forth only by his own skill, or success, or scientific power. He had produced the very effect he wanted; for the moment, he had her all to himself.

"Miss Faith," he said gently, as his demonstration came to an end,—"you may command me for that library."

Faith drew back and her mind returned to business again. The doctor saw it, and was instantly sorry he had started the subject.

"I was going to speak to you about that, Dr. Harrison. If you have no objection, I shall take a little of that money you entrusted to me, for it—the beginning of it. Only a little. The rest shall go as I suppose you meant it to go."

"I knew it was very sure to go right after it got into your hands. I don't think I followed it any further."

"It will make a great many people happy this winter, Dr. Harrison."

"I hope it will," said he very sincerely; for he knew that if it made them it would her.

"You have little notion how much," Faith went on gravely. "I will do the best I can with it,—and if you had patience to hear, I would let you know what, Dr. Harrison."

"You do me less than justice, Miss Faith. You can hear me rant about philosophical niceties,—and yet think that I would not have patience to listen to a lecture from you upon my neglected duties!"

"I didn't mean that, sir."

He gave her a genial, recognizing little smile, which was not exactly in his "part"—but came in spite of him.

"Do you know, I should like to hear it, Miss Faith. I always like lectures illustrated. What have you done already?"

"There is an almost bed-ridden woman two miles off, who will bless somebody all winter for the comfort of a rocking-chair—all her life, I may rather say;—a common wooden one, Dr. Harrison."

"That is a capital idea," said the doctor. "She will bless you, I hope."

"No, certainly! I shall tell her the money is not mine,—I am only laying it out for a kind somebody."

"Miss Faith," said the doctor,—"I am not kind!"

"I think you are,"—was her gentle, somewhat wistful answer. The doctor sprung up.

"Mrs. Derrick," said he with all his comicality alive,—"Miss Faith promised me a piece of pumpkin pie."

He had it, and taking his old place on the rug slowly demolished it, qualifying every morsel with such ridiculous correlative remarks, allusions, and propositions,—that it was beyond the power of either Mrs. Derrick or Faith to retain her gravity. But the moment the door closed upon him, Faith looked sober.

"Well, child?" said her mother.

"Well, mother—I haven't written my French."

And she sat down to write it, but studied something else. "Manage it some other way"—she had said she would; it was not easy! What was she going to do? the doctor asked nothing of her but ordinary civility; how could she refuse him that? It was a puzzle, and Faith found it so as the weeks went on. It seemed to be as Mr. Linden had said; that she could do little but be as she had been, herself. That did not satisfy Faith.

It was a great relief, when about the middle of December the family went to New York for a few weeks, and Dr. Harrison went with his family. Once more she breathed freely. Then Faith and Reuben made themselves very busy in preparing for the Christmas doings. Means enough were on hand now. Reuben was an invaluable auxiliary as a scout;—to find out where anything was pressingly wanted and what; and long lists were made, and many trains laid in readiness against Mr. Linden's arrival. And then he came!

It was for a good week's holiday this time, and how it was enjoyed two people knew—which was enough. Studies went on after the old fashion during that week, and dinners and teas out made some unavoidable interruptions, yet not on the whole unpleasant. And sleigh rides were taken, day and night; and walks and talks not to be mentioned. Then the Newyear's visiting—with such a budget of new varieties!—how pleasant it was to go that round again together; and it was hard to make short visits, for everybody wanted to see and hear so much of Mr. Linden. He stayed one extra day after that—to see Faith when he had done seeing everybody else, but then he went; and the coldness and quiet of winter set in, broken only by letters.

There was a break of another kind when Dr. Harrison came back, in the middle of January; such a break to Faith's quiet that the coldness was well nigh forgotten. She had doubly resolved she would have as little as possible to do with him; and found presently she was having quite as much as ever.

The plan of rendering him a grave account of what she had done or was doing with his money, so far as the plan regarded keeping him at a distance, was a signal failure. Very simply and honestly it was done, on her part; but it suited the doctor admirably; nothing could better serve his purposes. Dr. Harrison heard her communication about some relieved family or project of relief, with a pleasant sort of attention and intelligence; and had skill, although really and professedly unwonted in the like things, to take up her plans and make the most happy suggestions and additions—often growing a large scheme upon a small one, and edging in the additional means so insensibly, so quietly, that though Faith saw he did it she could not tell how to hinder and did not know that she ought. Mr. Linden had sent, as he promised, his help for the library,—indeed sent from time to time some new parcel; and without inquiring whether the money he had left for his poor people was exhausted, had sent her a fresh supply. But she had none too much, from all sources. It was a winter of great severity among the poorer portion of the community; work was hard to come by, and the intense weather made food and clothing and tiring doubly in demand. There were few starving poor people in Pattaquasset; but many that winter lacked comforts, and some would have wanted bread, without the diligent care of their better-off neighbours. And there as everywhere, those who gave such care were few. Faith and Reuben had plenty to do. But indeed not merely, nor chiefly, with the furnishing of food to the hungry and firing to the cold; neither were those the points where Dr. Harrison's assistance came most helpfully in.

Little Ency Stephens wanted a flower now and then, as well as a velocipede; and Dr. Harrison gave—not to Faith, but to Faith's hands for her—a nice little monthly rose-bush out of the greenhouse. How it smiled in the poor cottage and on the ailing child!—and what could Faith do but with a swelling heart to wish good to the giver. A smoky chimney was putting out the eyes of a poor seamstress. Dr. Harrison quietly gave Reuben orders to have a certain top put to the chimney and send the bill to him. He even seemed to be undertaking some things on his own account. Faith heard through Reuben that he had procured the office of post-mistress in Pattaquasset to be given to the distressed family she and Mr. Linden had visited at Neanticut; and that Mrs. Tuck and Mintie were settled at the post-office, in all comfort accordingly. But worst of all! there were some sick people; and one or two for whom Faith dared not refuse his offer to go with her to see them. Dared still less after the first time he had actually gone; so great and immediate she found the value, not of his medicines only, but of the word or two of hint and direction which he gave her towards their help and healing. Faith began to look forward to May with a breath of almost impatience. But a change came before that.

CHAPTER XXI

The spring came, with all its genial influences. Not now with such expeditions as the last spring had seen, but with letters to take their place, and with walks of business and kindness instead of pleasure. Yes, of pleasure too; and Faith began to find her "knight" not only a help and safeguard, but good company. Reuben was so true, so simple and modest—was walking in such a swift path of improvement; was so devoted to Faith and her interests, besides the particular bond of sympathy between them, that she might have had many a brother and fared much worse. The intercourse had not changed its character outwardly—Reuben's simple ceremonial of respect and deference was as strict as ever; but the thorough liking of first acquaintanceship had deepened into very warm affection on both sides. With Dr. Harrison Reuben gained no ground—or the doctor did not with him. Though often working for him and with him, though invariably courteous with the most respectful propriety, Faith could see that Reuben's old feeling was rather on the increase.

With the spring thaw came a freshet. It came suddenly, at the end of the week; every river and stream rising into a full tide of insurrection with the melting snows of Saturday, and Saturday night bridges and mill dams went by the board. Among the rest, one of the railway bridges near Pattaquasset gave way, and a full train from the east set down its freight of passengers in Pattaquasset over Sunday. They amused themselves variously—as such freight in such circumstances is wont to do. Faith knew that the church was well filled that Sunday morning, but the fact or the cause concerned her little—did not disturb the quiet path of her thoughts and steps, until church was out and she coming home, alone that day, as it happened. Then she found the walk full and her walk hindered. Especially by two gentlemen—who as the others thinned off, right and left, still went straight on; not fast enough to get away from Faith nor slow enough for her to pass them. They were strangers, evidently, and town bred. One of them reminded Faith of Dr. Harrison, in dress and style—both belonged to a class of which she had seen few specimens. But she gave them little heed (save as they detained her,) nor cared at all for their discussion of the weather, or the place. Then suddenly her attention was caught and held.

"By the way!" said one—"this is the very place where Linden was so long."

"Who? Endecott Linden?" said Dr. Harrison's likeness. "What was he here for?"

"Teaching school."

"Teaching school!" echoed the other,—"Endecott Linden teaching school!—Pegasus in pound!—How did the rustics catch him?"

"Pegasus came of his own accord, if I remember."

"Pshaw, yes!—but Linden. For what conceivable reason did he let himself down to teach school?"

"He didn't—" said the other a little hotly. "He wouldn't let himself down if he turned street-sweeper."

"True—he has a sort of natural dais which he carries about with him,—I suppose he'd make the crossing the court end. But I say, what did he do this for?"

"Why—for money!" said the first speaker. "What an ado about nothing!"

"Inconceivable! Just imagine, George, a man who can sing as he does, teaching a, b, ab!"

"Well—imagine it," said George,—"and then you'll wish you were six years old to have him teach you."

"How cross you are," said his friend lazily. "And despotic. Was there nothing left of all that immense property? I've just come home, you know."

"Not much," said George. "A little—but Endecott wouldn't touch that—it was all put at interest for Miss Pet. He would have it so, and even supported her as long as she staid in the country. What he works so hard for now I don't understand."

"Works, does he? I thought he was studying for the church—going to bury himself again. It's a crying shame! why he might be member, minister, Secretary, President!"

"He!" cried George in hot disdain,—"he soil his fingers with politics!No—he's in the right place now,—there's no other pure enough for him."

"I didn't know you admired the church so much," said his friend ironically.

"I don't—only the place in it where he'll stand. That's grand."

"And so he's at work yet?"

"Yes indeed—and it puzzles me. That year here ought to have carried him through his studies."

"Why what can he do?—not teach school now,—he's no time for it."

"He can give lessons—and does. Makes the time, I suppose. You know he has learned about everything but Theology. Olyphant was telling me about it the other day."

"What a strange thing!" said the other musingly, "such a family, so swept overboard! What a house that was! You remember his mother, George?"

"I should think so!—and the way Endecott used to sing to her every night, no matter who was there."

"Yes," said the doctor's confrère—"and come to her to be kissed afterwards. I should have laughed at any other man—but it set well on him. So did her diamond ring in his hair, which she was so fond of handling. How did he make out to live when she died?"

"I don't know—" said George with a half drawn breath—a little reverently too: "I suppose he could tell you. But all that first year nobody saw him—unless somebody in need or sorrow: they could always find him. He looked as if he had taken leave of the world—except to work for it."

"How courted he used to be!"—said the other—"how petted—not spoiled, strange to say. Do you suppose he'll ever marry, George? will he ever find any one to suit his notions? He's had enough to choose from already—in Europe and here. What do they say of him off yonder—where he is now?"

"They say he's—rock crystal,—because ice will melt," said George. "SoI suppose his notions are as high as ever."

"You used to admire Miss Linden, if I remember," said his friend. "What a ring that was!—I wonder if she's got it. George—I sha'n't walk any further in this mud—turn about."