or,--"it was doubled--or trebled.
For in the first place he had Eve; she was a second paradise;--then all
her enjoyment of paradise was his enjoyment; that was a third;--and in
short I should think the multiplication might go on ad infinitum--like
compound interest or any other series of happiness impossible to
calculate."

"Simple interest isn't a bad thing," said Mr. Linden.

"Yes," said the doctor with an answering flash of his eye, "but it
never contented anybody yet that could get it compound--that ever I
heard of. Does Miss Derrick understand arithmetic?"

"Miss Derrick," said Mr. Linden, "how many angels can stand on the
point of a (darning) needle without jostling each other?"

"Don't be deluded into thinking _that_ is arithmetic," said the doctor.
"Some of them would get their feet hurt. What duty has Mr. Linden been
persuading you to do to-day?"

"Mr. Linden can tell," said Faith.

Which appeal Mr. Linden answered by deliberately finishing his poem
aloud, for the benefit of the company.

"'What wondrous life is this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head;
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine.
The nectarine, the curious peach,
Into my hands themselves do reach.
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.'

'Here, at the fountain's sliding foot,
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root,
Casting the body's vest aside,
My soul into the boughs does glide:
There, like a bird, it sits and sings,
Then whets and claps its silver wings;
And, till prepared for longer flight,
Waves in its plumes the various light.'" etc.

The doctor listened, faithfully and enjoyingly; but his finishing
comment was,

"What a pity it is November!"

"No," said Faith--"I think I enjoyed it better than I should in July."

"Rousseau's doctrine," said the doctor. "Or do you mean that you like
the description better than the reality?"

"It was the reality I enjoyed," said Faith.

"What have you got there, Linden?"

"Various old poets, bound up together."

"What was that you read?"

"Andrew Marvell's 'Garden.'"

"It's a famous good thing!--though I confess my soul never 'glided into
the boughs' of any tree when my body didn't go along. Apropos--Do you
like to be on the back of a good horse?"

"Why yes," said Mr. Linden, "when circumstances place me there."

"Will you let me be a circumstance to do it? I have an an