mmands so urged, though a quick glance said that her
wish was enough.

"But dear Reuben, who's coming when you're gone?"

"Would you like Dromy Tuck, Miss Faith?--but I don't know that you ever
saw him. He's strong, and honest--he's not very bright. I'll find
somebody." And so the matter ended.

August went on,--Reuben sawed his last stick of wood and eat his last
breakfast at Mrs. Derrick's, and then set forth for Quilipeak, to begin
his new life there. The little settlement at Quapaw was not alone in
feeling his loss,--Mrs. Derrick and Faith missed him every day. One of
Reuben's last doings in Pattaquasset, was the giving Dromy Tuck in
charge to Phil Davids.

"Look after him a little, Phil," he said, "and see that he don't go to
sleep too much daytimes. He means to go straight, but he wants help
about it; and I don't want Mrs. Derrick to be bothered with him." Which
request, enforced as it was by private considerations, favoured Dromy
with as strict a censorship as he desired.

From Germany news came at last,--but it was of the sort that one can
bear to wait for. Mrs. Iredell was not able to be moved nor certain to
get well. Mr. Linden could neither come with his sister nor from her.
And thus, hindered from getting home to his Seminary duties in America,
there was but one thing he could do--finish his course in a German
University. But that ensured his being in Europe the whole year! No
question now of fall or winter or spring,--summer was the first time
that could be even thought of; and in this fair September, when Faith
had been thinking of the possibility of his sudden appearance, he was
beginning his work anew in a foreign land.

It came heavily at first upon her. Faith had not known how much she
counted on that hope or possibility. But now when it was gone she found
she had lost a large piece of her sunlight. She had read her letter
alone as usual, and alone she struggled with her sorrow. It cost Faith
for once a great many tears. Prayer was always her refuge. But at last
after the tears and the signs of them were gone, Faith went into her
mother's company again, looking wistful and as gentle and quiet.

Perhaps it was well for Faith that her mother knew what this quiet
meant--it saved her countless little remarks of wonder and comment and
sorrow. More devoted to her Mrs. Derrick could not be, but she had her
own strong box of feeling, and there locked up all her sorrow and
anxiety out of sight. Yet it w