only to wait and be
quiet." And she carried out both parts of her stated duty to perfection.

There is a strange sort of strength in a certain degree of weakness--or
it may be that weakness runs sooner to its refuge, while strength
stands outside to do battle with the evil felt or feared. Faith's
gentle and firm temper was never apt for struggling, with either pain
or fear; it would stand, or yield, as the case called for; and now,
whether that her mind had been living in such a peaceful and loving
atmosphere, both earthly and heavenly, that it could settle upon none
but peaceful views of things, or that bodily weakness made her unable
to bear any other, she did mount upon one of those "ladders" and left
her burden on the ground. She thought she did. She was as quiet
outwardly as before; she told Mrs. Derrick, who looked at her in
misery,--and told her with a steady cheerful little smile, that "she
dared say the letter would come to-morrow." But it is true that Faith
had no power to eat that night nor the next day; and that she did not
know the hidden slow fever--not of disease--which was running through
all her veins and making the other fever do its work again, bright in
her cheek and eye and beating at her temples and wrist. But she was as
still and quiet through it all--quiet in voice and brow--as if letters
had been full and plenty.

CHAPTER XXIII.

It was about midday of Saturday, when Reuben Taylor, proceeding up the
main street of Pattaquasset on some business errand for his father, was
joined by Phil Davids--no wonted or favourite associate or companion.
But Phil now walked up the street alongside of the basket which had
come "into town" with fish.

"I say, Reuben," said Phil after some unimportant remarks had been made
and answered,--"does Mr. Linden ever write to you?"

Reuben started--as if that touched some under current of his thoughts,
and answered "yes."

"I wish he'd write to me," said Phil. "I know I'd like it. I say,
Taylor, what does he send you such thick letters about?"

"Such thick letters!" Reuben repeated, with a quick look at his
companion. "People put a great many things in a letter, Phil."

"I guess likely. That's what I say. What does he write to you about?"

"Maybe I'll bring up one of 'em for you to read," said Reuben. "You've
heard him talk, Phil--he writes just so."

"Does he? I guess you wouldn't like to miss one of his letters then,
Reuben,--would you?"

"No."