found wrong and to be told so,
wherever wrong was. It was rather by the fulness of what she gave him,
than by any declaration of want on her own part, that Mr. Linden could
tell from her letters how much she felt or missed in his absence. She
rarely put any of that into words, and if it got in atmospherically it
was by the subtlest of entrances. When she spoke it at all, it was
generally a very frank and simple expression of strong truth.

Of out-door work, during all this time, she had a variety. For some
time after Mr. Linden's going away, neither Mrs. Stoutenburgh nor the
Squire had been near the house; but then they began to amuse themselves
with taking her to drive, and whenever Faith could and would go she was
sure of a pleasant hour or two out in the brisk autumn air, and with no
danger of even hearing Mr. Linden's name mentioned. The silence indeed
proved rather too much, but it was better than speech. Then she and
Reuben had many excursions, short and long. Sometimes the flowers or
eggs or tracts were sent by him alone, but often Faith chose to go too;
and he was her ever ready, respectful, and efficient escort,--respect
it was truly, of the deepest and most affectionate kind. And thus--on
foot or with Jerry--the two went their rounds; but at such houses Faith
must both hear and speak of Mr. Linden--there was always some question
to answer, some story to hear.

It happened, among Dr. Harrison's other pleasures, that he several
times met them on these expeditions; generally when he was driving,
sometimes when they were too; but one late November afternoon--not late
in the month but late in the day, fortune favoured him. Strolling along
for an unwonted walk, the doctor beheld from a little hill Faith and
Reuben in the valley below,--saw them go up to the door of a cottage,
saw Faith go in, and Reuben sit down in the porch and take out his
book. It was a fair picture,--the brown woodland, the soft sunlight,
the little dark cottage, the pretty youthful figures with their quick
steps and natural gestures, and the evening hue and tone of everything.
But the doctor did not admire it--and went down the hill without even
taking off his hat to the chickadees that bobbed their black caps at
him from both sides of the road. By the porch the doctor suddenly
slackened his pace, looked within, nodded to Reuben, and came to a halt.

"Have I accidentally found out where you live, Reuben?"

"I live down by the shore, sir," s