ere without me," said Faith, stooping to turn
over some of the glittering pebbles at her feet;--"and I couldn't have
got here without you. I am willing to allow that we are square, Mr.
Linden. I must!--for you will turn a corner faster than I can catch
you."

"If you really suppose that first proposition to be true," said Mr.
Linden raising his eyebrows, "why of course there is no more to be
said. Miss Faith, how would you like to be sailing about in one of
those phantom ships?"

"I should like it very well," said Faith, "in a good time. I went to
Pequot in one once. It was very pleasant. Why do you call them
phantoms?"

"Look at that one standing off across the moonlight towards the other
shore,--gliding along so silently with her black sails all set,--does
she look real?--You cannot even hear the creaking of a rope."

Faith looked, and drew an interrupted deep breath. She had lived in a
world of realities. Perhaps this was the first 'phantom' that had ever
suggested itself--or been suggested--to her imagination. Possibly
something of the same thought crossed her mind; for she drew her breath
again a little short as she spoke.

"Yes!--it's beautiful!--But I live in such a different world, Mr.
Linden,--I never thought of such a thing before."

He smiled--pleasantly and thoughtfully. "How came you to see the
sunrise colours the other day, Miss Faith?"

"O I see them always. And that puts me in mind of something I have been
wanting to say to you every day all the week! and I could never find a
chance. You asked me that morning, Mr. Linden, if I was _true to my
name, finding enough in a cloudy sky_. What did you mean? What did you
mean by being true to my name'?"

"I shall have to use your name a little freely, to tell you," he said.
"It is faith's privilege to be independent of circumstances. Faith
always finds something wherein to rejoice. If the sky be clear,

'Far into distant worlds she pries,
And brings eternal glories near.'

If cloudy, faith uses her glass as a prism, and in one little ray of
light finds all the colours of the rainbow."

"I don't know what a prism is," said Faith somewhat sadly.

"A prism, in strictness, is a piece of glass cut in a particular way,
so that the colourless sunbeams which pass through it are divided into
their many-coloured members. But other things act as prisms,--the
rain-drops in a shower--the lustres upon your church chandelier. You
have seen the colours ther