ving his hands. A
parting injunction Sam's dignity would have dispensed with.

CHAPTER XV.

The evening was very still. A little too cool for insect voices, a
little too late in the season for night birds, the soft dropping of the
yellow leaves scarce stirred those already fallen. Few sounds came from
the houses; for all Pattaquasset had been out, and that portion which
had got home was tired and thinking of bed, while the few stragglers
yet abroad were far from the late scene of action, on their lonely
homeward roads. Squire Deacon, with Joe for a thorn in his side, was
opening his own door for Miss Cecilia, and Miss Bethia Bezac, at 'the
other side of creation,' mused over the possibility of again (without
eyes) embroidering waistcoats. Thus when the clock struck eight, the
earth seemed asleep and the stars at watch over it.

At about that point of time, Sam Stoutenburgh and his fair companion
were near the parting gate; and Sam, not supposing himself within range
of other eyes, had bent down over Faith's glove in a very demonstrative
manner; and she would certainly have received an unwonted proof of his
devotion, if Mr. Linden--who had in truth been all the time not very
far off--had not just then been very near.

"Take care, Sam--" he said,--"you are exceeding directions." A remark
which sent Sam through the gate with more haste than coolness, while
Mr. Linden stepped forward into his place.

"Your mother rode home with Mrs. Somers, Miss Faith, and this little
shawl was requested to walk home with you," he said, wrapping it round
her; for which he received a quiet little "Thank you." He put her hand
on his arm, and once past the gate walked very slowly; moderating his
steps to hers, and taking the most leisurely pace; perhaps to give her
the full sedative effect of the night. Those faint breaths of air, that
soft hush of everything, that clear starry sky,--so high, so
still,--there was balm in them all.

And for a while Mr. Linden let them do their work alone,--then he spoke.

"One of my scholars is very tired to night. I'm afraid I have done
wrong in letting her walk home."

"O no!" said Faith with a little start,--"I like to walk very much, Mr.
Linden; it's very pleasant.--And I am not tired," she added in a soft
quiet voice.

"What is the difference between being tired, and being in want of rest?"

She looked at him again, and her words did not come at once.

"I suppose the difference is, tha