uch keen eyes too, that knew
so well all the relative forces of soil and cultivation and could
estimate so surely the fruits of both. Faith managed by not managing at
all and by keeping very quiet, as far as possible shewing him nothing
he did not directly or indirectly call for; but sometimes she felt she
was grazing the edge of discovery, which the least lifting of the veil
of Mr. Linden's unsuspiciousness would secure. She felt it to-night,
and the fire and she had one or two odd little consultations. Just what
Mr. Linden was consulting with himself about at those times, she did
not know; but she half fancied it was something. Once the fire called
her off at the end of a lesson, and when she came back to the table he
had the next book open; but it was not till this set of questions and
answers and explanations was half through, that Faith discovered he had
opened the book at a different place from the one where it had been
closed the day before,--then it suddenly flashed upon her; but whether
it had been by accident, or of intent, she did not know.

One last consultation Faith held with the fire while Mrs. Derrick was
gathering her work together to go to bed. Then she brought a low seat
to Mr. Linden's feet. "Now, Endy,--I am ready." A little smile--a soft,
lingering touch upon her forehead, came with his words.

"My little Mignonette, what do you suppose I came to Pattaquasset for?"

She looked rather wondering at him, and then said, "I supposed--to
teach the school."

"Yes, but to what end?--I mean in my intent. I know now what I came
for, in one sense," he said, securing one of her hands.

"Why--Endecott, do you want me to tell you?"

"If you know or guess."

"I don't know nor guess anything. I supposed merely that you did that
as other people do other things--and for the same reason."

"It was for a very commonplace reason," Mr. Linden said, watching her
face with two or three things at work in his own: "it was to get money
to finish my studies for your favourite profession."

"My favourite profession!--Which do you mean?"

"Have you forgotten Miss Essie's question? I have not--nor the dear
child who was so unwilling to answer it."

Faith's mind went back to Miss Essie, the question and answer,--and
took the round of the subject,--and even as she did so her face
changed, a sort of grave light coming into it,

"Do you mean _that_, Endy?" she said half under her breath.

"I mean that, and no other."