the boy resolutely. "She aint. Reuben
Taylor says she aint."

"_You_'ll never be, my fine fellow," said the doctor letting him
go,--"if you don't learn more discretion. I must tell Mr. Linden his
boys want a trifle of something besides Algebra. _That_ don't give all
the relative values of things."

"Pray do not! don't speak of it, Dr. Harrison!" said Faith.

He tried to see her face, but he could not.

"Hardly worth while," he said lightly. "Boys will be boys--which is an
odd way of excusing them for not being civilized things. However if you
excuse him, I will."

Faith said nothing. She was trying to get over the sudden jar of those
words. They had not told her anything she did not believe--she thought
no other; but they gave her nevertheless a keen stir of pain--a revival
of the pain she had quieted at Neanticut; and somehow this was worse
than that. Could Reuben Taylor talk about her so?--could Reuben Taylor
have any _authority_ for doing it? But that question would not stand
answering. Faith's red oak leaves were a little AEgis to her then, a
tangible precious representative of all the answer that question would
not wait for. No sting of pain could enter that way. But the pain was
bad enough; and under the favouring shadowy light of the lamps she
strove and strove to quiet it; while the doctor went on talking.

"Indeed,"--said he--going on with the subject of Phil's speech,--"I am
obliged to him for his information--which was of course incorrect. But
I am very glad to hear it nevertheless. Other people's sweethearts, you
know, are 'tabooed'--sacred ground--not to be approached without danger
to all concerned. But now--if you will allow me, I think I shall claim
you for mine."

Whatever _look_ the words may have, they did not sound rude. They were
said with a careless half-amused, half gentle manner, which might leave
his hearer in doubt whether the chief purpose of them were not to fall
pleasantly on her ear and drive away any disagreeable remainders of
Phil's insolence. But Faith scarce heard him. She was struggling with
that unbidden pain, and trying with all the simplicity and truth of her
nature and with the stronger help she had learned to seek, to fight it
down. She had never thought such an utterly vain thought as that
suggested in Phil's words; in her humility and modesty she chid herself
that it should have come into her head even when other people's words
had forced it there. Her humility was very