nd made Faith lean upon him and so rest.

They were somewhat elevated above the sea, where the barren face of the
land broke down suddenly some twenty feet. With what a sweet dash the
waves broke upon the beach, chasing up the wet sand and laying down a
little freight of seaweed here and there: how the water sparkled and
glittered, and was blue and white and green and neutral tint,--how the
gulls soared and stooped and flapped their wings in the gay breeze,
before which the white-winged vessels flew on a more steady course.
Jerry pawed the turf, and shook his head in approbation, and Faith's
head lay very still. Perhaps Mr. Linden thought she had done talking
enough that day, for he was rather silent; only watching her lest she
should be tired, or have too much of the air. What he watched her for
all the rest of the time, was best known to himself. Her brow had its
old quiet again now, though her face was grave beyond its old wont; and
the eyes, as he could see them, were softly grave and softly glad
together, intently going from the white-tipped water to the
white-winged gulls and the clouds grey and white that sailed above
them. Suddenly, after a long roaming over the fresh life that was
abroad there, the eyes were lifted to his face.

"Endecott--if I don't say anything, it is because I can't say anything
good enough!"

"Faith," he said with that same glad look at her, "your face says that
you are getting better every minute. Not tired yet?"

"I feel as if I was in a grand dream."

"Do you?" said Mr. Linden,--"I am glad I do not. It brings me out of a
dream to see you begin to look like yourself. I have not felt so real
before since I came home."

"You are real enough," said Faith; "and so is everything else. It is
only my feeling that is dreamy. And this air will wake me up, if I stay
here a little while longer. How good it is!"

"Do you see that dark rock out in the midst of the waves? and how the
waves half cover and then leave it bare?"

"Yes."

"I was thinking of what Rutherford says of the changing, swaying,
unsteady tide of life-joys and sorrows,--'Our rock doth not ebb and
flow, but our sea.'"

Faith thought her own life had not been much like that changing tide;
then remembered his had, in nearer measure. The next question was not
far off; she put it, looking up anxiously and regretfully. "Endecott,
what are you working so hard for?"

A very gay change of face answered her.

"So hard as what?"