ay, to begin with."

"He wanted me to say something to bring him back again," said Faith
lower yet.

"O is that all!" said Mrs. Derrick composedly. "I knew that gun was
loaded, long ago. Well what's the harm if he did?--it's not dangerous."

"I'm sorry," said Faith. "But mother, do make Crab get on!--it's time."

"It's not late," said Mrs. Derrick. "And don't you fret about Sam
Deacon, child,--he always was a little goose--till he got to be a big
one; but you needn't think he'll ever shoot himself for love of
you,--he loves himself better than that."

And at this point, Crab--roused by the thought of his own supper--set
off at a good round trot which soon brought them home. There was nobody
there, however, not even Cindy; so the need of haste did not seem to
have been urgent. Faith soon had the kitchen fire in order, and her
clams in the pot, and was for the next half hour thoroughly busy with
them. Then she made herself ready for tea, and the mother and daughter
sat together by the lamp, the one with her knitting the other with her
book. But the extra half hour was already past.

"Faith," said Mrs. Derrick at last, "why wouldn't Mr. Linden do the
other thing you asked him to?"

Faith looked up suddenly from her book, as if not understanding the
question; then her head and her voice drooped together.

"I haven't asked him yet, mother."

"I didn't know but he'd some objection," said Mrs. Derrick. "Well I
wish he'd come--I want my supper. I'm as tired as tired can be,
paddling round there in the mud. How did you like your lantern, child?"
she said as the clock struck half past seven.

Faith raised her head and listened first to the clock and for any sound
that might be stirring near the house; then answered,

"I haven't looked at it, mother."

"What do you think of having supper?"

"Before Mr. Linden comes, mother?--well, if you like it, I'll get you
yours--the clams are ready."

"I don't care," said her mother,--"I'm more sleepy than hungry. I'll
just lie down here on the sofa, Faith, and you can wake me up when you
hear him." And disregarding the cooked clams in the kitchen, Mrs.
Derrick went to sleep and dug them all over again.

The clock ticked on,--softly, steadily, from the half hour to the hour,
and from the hour to the half. Out of doors there was nothing stirring,
unless the owl stirred between his unmusical notes, or Mr. Skip's dog
did something but howl. Hardly a wagon passed, hardly a breath