re are a good many such houses down about those points, and far on
along the shore. I was thinking most of them--though there are some
nearer by. But my Mignonette must not tire herself,--I did not mean to
bring anything but pleasure upon her hands."

"You can't! in this way," said Faith in delighted eagerness. "Who keeps
house in Reuben's home? he has no mother."

"No--I suppose I may say that he keeps house,--for his father is away a
great deal, and Reuben always seems to be doing what there is to do. As
to things--you will want some for well people, and some for sick,--at
some houses the mere necessary bread and meat, and at others any of
those little extras which people who spend all their money for bread
and meat can never get. But little child," Mr. Linden said smiling, "if
I let you prepare, you must let me send home."

"What?" said she. "I thought you said we would both take them together?"

He laughed--taking her hand and holding it in both his.

"And so we will!--I meant, send home here, to prepare."

"Oh!--Well," said Faith, "but we have a great deal now, you know; and I
can send Mr. Skip to get more. But one thing I know--we will take
Reuben a roast turkey!"

I wonder if she could tell, in the firelight, with what eyes he watched
her and listened to her! Probably not, for his back was towards the
fire, and the changing light and shade on his face was a little
concealed. But the light had the mastery.

"Faith," he said, "I shall send you home some sugar-plums--upon express
condition that you are not to eat them up; being quite sweet enough
already."

His face was so hid that probably Faith thought her own was hid too,
and did not know how clearly its moved timid changes were seen. She
leaned forward, and touching one hand lightly to his shoulder, said,

"What do you mean to make me,--Endecott?"

It was a thing to hear, the soft fall and hesitancy of Faith's voice at
the last word. Yet they hardly told of the struggle it had cost. How
the word thrilled him she did not know,--the persons living from whom
he ever had that name were now so few, that there was a strange
mingling with the exquisite pleasure of hearing it from her lips,--a
mingling of past grief and of present healing. He changed his place
instantly; and taking possession of her, gave her the most gentle,
tender, and silent thanks. Perhaps too much touched to speak--perhaps
feeling sure that if he spoke at all it would be in just such wo