shewed her own
wish, and how simple a matter it was to him.

"I will, Miss Faith, if you please. Is this the hour you have fixed
upon?"

"I think so," she said,--"if you like it; because by and by they will
be sleepy." And Mr. Linden at once proceeded to the kitchen.

A busy murmur of tongues, and bright firelight glancing from keyhole
and crevice, guided him through the narrow passage which, sooth to say,
he had never trod before, to the door of the kitchen; the latch of
which yielded on slight persuasion, and Mr. Linden walked in. Supper
was over there, too, and the dishes were washed and put away, and Cindy
with dishcloth in hand was rubbing down the kitchen table. In one
corner of the hearth sat Mr. Skip on a half bushel measure, a full corn
basket beside him, an empty one in front, his hands busy with the
shelling process; this hard work being diversified and enlivened with
the continual additions he made to a cob house on the hearth. But, cob
in hand, Mr. Skip paused when Mr. Linden came in, and looked up at this
unusual apparition from under an extraordinary hat which drooped on all
sides of his face, as if like its wearer it had long given up all idea
of keeping up appearances. The face itself was strong, shrewd, apt. And
so Mr. Skip looked at Mr. Linden. Cindy on her part, did nothing but
wring the dish cloth and shake it out again, entirely oblivious of the
greeting with which Mr. Linden favoured both parties; and she listened
to the words he said about the corn, as if they had been Greek--double
distilled. Those words were few.

"Mr. Skip," he said then, "I think that so long as God keeps us here
together every day, we ought to thank him for it together every night.
I want you and Cindy to come into the parlour and let us begin to do it
now."

"Hey?" said Mr. Skip, between want of understanding and want of belief
in the testimony of his ears. Mr. Linden repeated his words, with a
composed distinctness that could leave no manner of doubt.

"Well!"--said Mr. Skip. "What do you want us for to do?"

"Come into the parlour."

"I s'pose we'll be to come,"--said Mr. Skip, dropping his cob and
getting up and straightening himself. "Will you have us in now?"

"Yes," Mr. Linden answered, and led the way.

"Go along, Cindy!" said Mr. Skip in undertone. "S'pose it don't take
fur to see into this."

Cindy obeyed, but without seeing 'fur' into anything--even the parlour,
though she tried for it. There was not