aid of you I should tell you
what you are like. What else have you seen?"

"Tell me what I am like, Endecott."

"What sort of consistency is that--to coax me when I don't tell you,
and scold me when I do?"

"It's curiosity, I suppose," said Faith. "But it's no matter. I saw all
that strange place, Broadway, Endecott; we drove through the whole
length of it."

"Well?" said Mr. Linden, throwing himself down in the arm-chair and
looking gravely up at her. But then the lips parted, not only to smile
but to sing a wild Scotch tune.

"O wat ye wha that lo'es me,
And has my heart in keeping?
O sweet is she that lo'es me,
As dews o' summer weeping,
In tears the rosebuds steeping;
O that's the lassie o' my heart,
My lassie ever dearer;
O that's the queen o' womankind,
And ne'er a ane to peer her!"

"If thou hast heard her talking,
And thy attention's plighted,
That ilka body talking
But her by thee is slighted,
And thou art all delighted.
O that's the lassie o' my heart,
My lassie ever dearer;
O that's the queen o' womankind,
And ne'er a ane to peer her!"

"Did you see anybody like that in Broadway, Faith?"

Blushing how she blushed! but she would not say a word nor stir, to
interrupt the singing; so she stood there, casting a shy look at him
now and then till he had stopped, and then coming round behind him, she
laid her head down upon his shoulder. Mr. Linden laughed, caressing the
pretty head in various ways.

"My dear little bird!" he said. Then presently--"Mignonette, _I_ have
been looking at fur cloaks."

"Don't do such a thing again, Endy."

"I shouldn't, if I could have quite suited myself to-day."

"I don't want it. I can bear the cold as well as you."

"Let it make up for something which you do want and haven't got, then;
you must bear the cold Polar fashion. But at present, there is the
dinner-bell."

They went down; but with the fossil and the fur, Faith was almost taken
out of New York; and astonished Mr. Pulteney once or twice more in the
course of the evening, to Mr. Linden's amusement.

CHAPTER XLVI.

The Hudson river railway, on a summer Saturday afternoon. Does
everybody know it? If not, let me tell the people who have not tried
it, or those more unfortunate ones who are tried by it, and driven into
the depths of newspapers and brown literature by the steam pressure of
mountains, clouds, and river, that it is glorious.