'after-supper' view, but the demands of the company had
not yet ceased. Mr. Simlins was still discussing cheese and politics;
Jem Williams was deep in cherry pie; plum cake was not out of favour
with the ladies. The Squire was hard at work at _his_ supper, which had
been diversely and wickedly interrupted. He was making up for lost time
now; while his sister, much disengaged, was bending her questions and
smiles on Mr. Linden. Faith tried to see Mr. Linden, but she couldn't;
he was leaning back from the table; and her eyes went out of doors. It
was too fair and sweet there to be cooped up from it. The sun had just
set. Faith could not see the water; the windows of the eating house
looked landward; but the air which came in at them said where it had
come from, and breathed the salt freshness of the sea into her face.

But presently every chair was pushed back. And now there was no more
silence nor quiet The busy swarm poured out of the supper room; the men
to lounge or tackle their horses, the women to gather up the bathing
dresses from the fence, to look round, laugh, and go in again to pack
up the dishes. It would seem that this last might be a work of time,
each had to find her own through such a maze of confusion. There was a
spoon of Miss Cecilia's providing, in a cup of Mrs. Derrick's, beside a
plate of Mrs. David's, and before a half-eaten cherry pie which had
been compounded in the distant home and by the fair fingers of Miss
Jerusha Fax. However, most people know their own at least; and as on
the present occasion nobody had any particular desire to meddle with
what was not her own, the difficulty was got through with. The baskets
and hampers were packed again and stowed in their respective wagons;
and everybody was bidding good bye to everybody. Noisy thanks and
praises fell liberally to the share of Miss Cecilia and her brother,
and the afternoon was declared to have been "splendid."

CHAPTER V.

For some weeks the little town of Pattaquasset held on its peaceful way
as usual. Early summer passed into harvest, and harvest gave way to the
first blush of autumn, and still the Mong flowed quietly along, and the
kildeers sang fearlessly. For even tenor and happy spirits, the new
teacher and his scholars were not unlike the smooth river and its
feathered visiters. Whatever the boys were taught, they certainly
learned to be happy; and Mr. Linden's popularity knew no bounds in his
own domain. Neither did it