Mr. Linden,
touching the horse with his whip, "there are just two things to be
said. In the first place--with the help of another book or two which
are not beyond reach--you may make his acquaintance quite comfortably
by yourself. In the second--no, I shall not tell you the second,--that
you may find out by yourself too. There is Charles twelfth--and all his
subjects one might judge."

For on Captain Samp's blackberry hill--albeit blackberries were bygone
things--a troop, a flock of children were scattered up and down,
picking flowers. Golden rod and asters and 'moonshine,' filled the
little not-too-clean hands, and briars and wild roses combed the
'unkempt' hair somewhat roughly. Whiteheaded youngsters all of them,
looking (but for small patterns of blue calico and nankeen) not unlike
a drove of little pigs. Next appeared an imposing array of sunflowers,
below which prince's feather waved in crimson splendour, and the little
brown capital of 'Sweden' stood revealed. Or I should say, partially;
for the house stood in the deepest corner of the shade, just where the
road took a sharp turn towards the sunlight; and Mr. Linden alighted
and tied his horse to a tree, with little fear that anything would
happen to him unless the darkness put him to sleep.

"Charles twelfth has the best of it just now, Miss Faith," he said as
he opened the gate for her. "Why do people build houses where they
cannot see the sun!"

They were met at the door by Mrs. Seacomb.

"Do tell!" she said--"why if this aint you! But what made you come so
late? and how slow your horse did come when he was about it. I've been
watchin' you this age. Well Faith--I declare--you're as pretty as a
posie! And this is the teacher I s'pose--Guess likely you haint been
down this way afore, sir,--it's a good ways, and the road's lonesome,
but it's a fine place when you're here--so retired and shady."

All Mr. Linden's command of countenance only enabled him to answer the
last remark with a strong affirmative.

"Yes sir," said Mrs. Seacomb, "it is; and there's a good many of the
trees is evergreens, so the shade never goes off. I do s'pose, if I
could keep the children more to home they wouldn't get nigh so brown as
they do; but if I was to run out in the lot and whip 'em home every
half hour they'd be back again afore I could count one. Now
Genevievy--she does stay round under the trees a good deal, but then
she's fond of flowers. She'll be real glad to see you