tle travelling-bag was committed to him, and the cavalcade
set forth.

The way was far longer than the distance seemed to promise, having to
follow the possibilities of the ground. A wild way--through the forest
and over the brook; a good bridle path, but no better. The stillness of
nature everywhere; rarely a human habitation near enough to afford
human sounds. Frost and dew lay sparkling yet on moss and stone, in the
dells where the sun had not looked; though now and then a sudden
opening or turn showed a reach or a gorge of the mountains all golden
with sunlight. Trees such as Faith had never seen, stood along the path
in many places, and under them the horses' footfalls frightened the
squirrels from tree to tree.

"Is this the only way of getting about here, Endecott?"

"This, or on foot, in many directions. That part of our parish which
lies below us, as Mr. Olyphant says, can be reached with wheels. But
look, Mignonette!"

The road turned sharply round a great boulder, and they were almost
home! There it lay before them, a little below, an irregular, low, grey
stone cottage, fitting itself to the ground as if fitting the ground to
it had been an impossibility. It was not on a ravine; the slope went
down, down, till it swept off into the stubble fields and cleared land
below. There was the sound of a great waterfall in the distance; close
by the house a little branch stream went bounding down, and spread
itself out peaceably in the valley. Dark hemlocks guarded the cottage
from too close neighbourhood of the cliffs at the back, but in front
the subsiding roughness of nature kept only a few oaks and maples here
and there. The cleared ground was irregular, like the house, running up
and down, as might be. No moving thing in sight but the blue smoke and
the sailing clouds and cloud shadows. The tinkle of a cow-bell made
itself heard faintly; the breeze rushed through the pines, then slowly
the black heifer came over the brow of her meadow and surveyed the
prospect.

Faith had checked her horse, and looking at it all, up and down, turned
to Mr. Linden. There was a great deal in her look, more than words
could bear the burden of, and she said none. He held out his hand and
clasped hers speakingly, the lips unbent then, though they went back to
the grave lines of thought and interest and purpose. It was not merely
_his_ home he was looking at--it was the one to which he was bringing
her. Was it the place for Mignon