s. Derrick.

"Of course, mother. The wagon must go, Mr. Linden. There's room enough
for anything."

Mr. Linden made no comment upon that, and finished his tea in
comparative silence. Then went forth, as was his custom, to the
post-office, and--as was not his custom--returned very soon. Mrs.
Derrick and Miss Danforth had gone out to see a neighbour, and Faith
sat alone in the twilight parlour. It was very twilight there, but he
walked in and stood waiting for his eyes to discover what there might
be.

"There is nobody here but me, Mr. Linden," said a very soft and clear
voice. "Do you want anything?"

"I wanted to see you--and am foiled by the darkness. Are you tired,
Miss Faith?"

"Never. I wasn't sitting in the dark for that."

"Would you object to coming into the light?"

"Not at all," said Faith laughing. "Which way?"

"There is to be a fine illumination to-night, which I should like to
have you see."

"An illumination! Where is it? Shall I want my bonnet?"

"You will be better illuminated without it,--but you may perhaps take
cold."

"How do you make your scholars understand you?" said Faith. "I am sure
I must need illuminating.--So much, that I had better leave my bonnet,
Mr. Linden?"

"I think you may--if you will take some light substitute. Why my
scholars _are_ my scholars, Miss Faith."

"What then?" said Faith stopping short.

"Why then I am their teacher."

"I half wish I was a scholar too," said Faith with a tone which filled
up the other 'half'--"I don't know much, Mr. Linden."

"About illuminations? I will promise you some light upon that point."

With which encouragement, Faith fetched the scarf which was to do duty
for a bonnet if desired, and they set out.

"Now Miss Faith," said her companion as he closed the gate, "if you
will shew me the road, I will shew you the shore.--Which will not at
all interfere with your shewing it to me to-morrow."

"The shore!" said Faith. "To-night? Are you in earnest?"

"Very much in earnest. You prefer some other road?"

"No indeed--it's beautiful, and I like it very much. Cindy," she said
to that damsel whom they opportunely passed at the entrance of the
lane--"you tell my mother I am gone to take a walk." And so they passed
on.

The way was down a lane breaking from the high road of the village,
just by Mrs. Derrick's house. It was a quiet country lane; passing
between fields of grass or grain, with few trees near at hand. Here and
there a