t her
words, which changed even while he spoke, "you do not know what a
comfort it is to me to feel that! And do you realize, little Sunbeam,
what joy it is, that however far apart we can still work together--in
the same cause, for the same master? The work which I take upon me by
name, belongs as really to you,--for the call should be given by every
one that heareth to every one that is athirst."

"I know--" she said quietly. "How grand those words are you have been
reading!"

"Faith," Mr. Linden said presently, "have you any special attachment to
this particular little Bible?"

"I have my red notes in it," she said with a bright smile.

"I am not quite satisfied with the paper and type, for your eyes--by
firelight and twilight. Shall I break up any train of old association
if I send you another?"

She gave him a look of what Dr. Harrison might have called "compound
interest"; but assured him at the same time with sedate earnestness
that the one she had would do very well.

This was but a day or two before Mr. Linden's leaving Pattaquasset. He
had paid his many farewell visits before the last week came, and before
that, too, had given up his weekday scholars,--those last days were all
given to Faith. Given to her in every possible way--out of doors and
within; in that fair summer weather the open air was the best of all
places for talking, and the least liable to intrusion. It was a great
relief to get away from village sights and sounds to the still woods,
or the fresh shore,--it was a great help towards cheerfulness. And the
help was needed. Wherever Mr. Linden went, among people, he met nothing
but sorrow for his going away,--wherever he went, to house or woods, he
carried the deep-hidden double sorrow in his heart, which no one
guessed of all who so loudly bewailed his departure. Faith herself
perhaps hardly realized what his part of that sorrow was; but he knew
hers, and bore it--as one bears the trials of the dearest friend one
has on earth.

He was to go very early in the morning, but when the late evening talk
had impinged upon the night as much as it could be allowed to do, he
gave Faith the unexpected promise of coming down to read with her just
as usual next day.

It was very, very early this time, in the summer twilight dawn, when
the kildeers were in their full burst of matins, and all the other
birds coming in one by one. Faith did not say many words, but she was
as quiet as the hour. Then she