two ladies,
behind him seemed each to be wrapped in her own thoughts; and moonlight
and star light favoured that, and so on they jogged between the shadowy
walls of trees tipped and shimmering with light, and over those strips
of silver on the road. Out of the woods at last, on the broad, full-lit
highway; past one farm and house after another, lights twinkling at
them from the windows; and then their own door with its moon-lit porch.

The old horse would stand, no fear; the reins were thrown over his
back, and the three went in together. As Mrs. Derrick passed on first
and the others were left behind in the doorway, Faith turned and held
out her hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Linden!"--she said softly.

He took the hand, and inquired gravely, "whether she was taking leave
of him for the rest of his natural life?"

Faith's mood had probably not been precisely a merry one when she
began; but her low laugh rung through the hall at that, and she ran in.

CHAPTER IX.

Mr. Simlins stood on his doorstep and surveyed such portion of his fair
inheritance as his eye could reach from that point. Barns and outhouses
already in good order, Mr. Simlins favoured with a mental coat of
paint; fences were put up and gate-posts renewed, likewise in
imagination. Imagination went further, and passed from the stores of
yellow grain concealed by those yellow clapboards, to the yellow
stubble-fields whence they had come; so that on the whole Mr. Simlins
took rather a glowing view of things, considering that it was not yet
sunrise. The cloudless October sky above his head suggested only that
it would be a good day for digging potatoes,--the white frost upon the
ground made Mr. Simlins 'guess it was about time to be lookin' after
chestnuts.' The twitter of the robins brought to mind the cherries they
had stolen,--the exquisite careering of a hawk in the high blue ether,
spoke mournfully of a slaughtered chicken: the rising stir of the
morning wind said plainly as a wind could (in its elegant language)
that 'if it was goin' to blow at that rate, it would be plaguey rough
goin' after round clams.' With which reflection, Mr. Simlins turned
about and went in to his early breakfast of pork and potatoes,--only,
as he was not a 'teacher,' they were hot and not cold.

Thus pleasantly engaged--discussing his breakfast,--Mr. Simlins was
informed by one of his 'help,' that a boy wanted to see him. Which was
no uncommon occurrence, for all the boys