Say and Seal Volume I Part 29

"Home."

"Goin' alone?"

"Why, yes. Why not?"

"Don' know," said Mr. Simlins,--"only I'm going part way, and I'll see nothin' happens to you as long as _I_'m in your consort."

It was a wild place enough to make company pleasant. Dark clumps of forest-trees on one hand grew near together, and the s.p.a.ces between, though cleared, looked hardly less wild; for vines and sumach and ferns had taken possession. The sun's rays yet lay warm on the rolling downs, the sere gra.s.s and the purplish blackberry vines, and sparkled on the waves beyond; but when Mr. Simlins and Faith struck into the woods for a 'short cut,' the shadowy solitude closed them in on all sides. Softly their steps moved over the fallen pine leaves, or rustled through the shreds of autumn finery that lay beneath oak and maple, and nothing else but birds and squirrels broke the stillness till they were near the further edge of the wood. There they heard a soft murmur of voices.

"Who lives here?" said Mr. Simlins.

But Faith held her breath.

"There's mortality here, where I thought there was nothing but animals and vegetation," said Mr. Simlins stepping softly and cautiously forward. "Let's see--don't make no noise more'n the leaves 'll let you.

I shouldn't think anything would come to a meetin' here but a wood-chuck--and they're skeered if they see a shadow."

On that side the trees ceased abruptly, and the open suns.h.i.+ne of a little clearing replaced them; and there were the speakers.

Tallest among the group sat Mr. Linden, and around him--in various att.i.tudes of rest or attention--a dozen boys basked in the suns.h.i.+ne.

Most of them were a size or two smaller than his morning cla.s.s at the Sunday school, though several of those were stretched on the gra.s.s at the outskirts of the circle, as honorary members. Little Johnny Fax, established in Mr. Linden's lap, divided his attention pretty evenly between the lesson and the teacher; though indeed to his mind the separate interests did not clash.

The little glade was very green still, but sprinkled with the autumn leaves which came floating down at every breath; and the bordering trees stood some in deep green hemlock and some in paler pine, and thrust out here and there a glowing arm into the sunlight. The boys--listening and looking,--some playing the part of young Nebuchadnezzars, some picking and breaking up the asters and golden rod within their reach,--giving little side nods of a.s.sent to each other, or bending a more earnest gaze on Mr. Linden; pus.h.i.+ng back their caps--or pulling them down with a quick brush across the eyes;--the hand with which Johnny Fax stroked back from Mr. Linden's forehead any stray lock of hair which the wind displaced, or laid on his shoulder when there was nothing else to do;--made altogether a picture the like of which Mr. Simlins had not seen before--nor even Faith. The sun might leave the clearing and betake itself to the tree-tops, and thence to the clouds,--there was light there which came from a higher source.

Not Faith's silent attention was more silent and motionless than that of her companion; he did not move or stir. But her deep, deep, rapt gravity formed part of the subject of his contemplations, for one or two keen sidelong glances fell upon it. Else, his eyes were busy uninterruptedly with the scene and took in the whole effect of it; hers hardly wavered from one point.

A little stir among the boys roused both the lookers-on from their muse; but they stood still again at the first notes of a hymn--as Mr.

Linden's deep voice began, and the young choir with its varied treble chimed in.

"I want to be an angel, And with the angels stand, A crown upon my forehead, A harp within my hand; There, right before my Saviour, So glorious and so bright, I'd wake the sweetest music, And praise him day and night.

"I never should be weary, Nor ever shed a tear, Nor ever know a sorrow, Nor ever feel a fear; But blessed, pure, and holy, I'd dwell in Jesus' sight, And with ten thousand thousand Praise him both day and night.

"I know I'm weak and sinful, But Jesus will forgive, For many little children, Have gone to heaven to live.

Dear Saviour, when I languish, And lay me down to die, Oh send a s.h.i.+ning angel To bear me to the sky!

"Oh there I'll be an angel, And with the angels stand!

A crown upon my forehead, A harp within my hand.

And there before my Saviour, So glorious and so bright, I'll wake the sweetest music, And praise him day and night!"

The two listeners stood still while the hymn was singing, still as the air; but Mr. Simlins got no more sight of Faith's face. They stood still when the hymn was finished, as if they lingered where the last vibrations had been. But as a general stir among the hymn party proclaimed that they would soon be on the move, the two who had watched them, as if by consent, turned short about and silently picked their way back through the darkening wood to the nearest point of road they could reach. It was far from home, and even out of the wood the light was failing; they walked with quick steps. Mr. Simlins could get glances now at Faith's face, but though it was quiet enough, he seemed for some reason or other in a disagreeable state of mind. It made itself manifest at length in a grunt of considerable power.

"Ugh!--this is a complexious sort of a world to live in!"--was his not very clear remark. The contrast of the tone of the next words was striking.

"Dear Mr. Simlins, there is something better."

"What do you call me 'dear' for?" growled he. "You never did before."

"I don't know," said Faith. "Because I want you to be as happy as I am."

"Be you so happy?" said the farmer inquisitively.

Faith said yes. It was a calm and clear yes; a confident yes; one that felt its foundations strong and deep; yet Faith's mother or dearest friend, if gifted with quick apprehensions, would hardly have been satisfied with it. Was Mr. Simlins so gifted?

"Not so happy you couldn't be happier?" he said in a tone that a.s.sumed it.

"No," said Faith, looking at him with a suns.h.i.+ny smile;--"I want to be better, Mr. Simlins."

"Better!"--growled Mr. Simlins. "You go hang yourself!--I wish you _was_ better. If you aint happy--I wish the Simlins' may be--an extant race!"

The extraordinary combination of wishes in this speech took away Faith's breath for an answer. She waited for something more.

"What was that fellow doing there?" growled the farmer after a while.

"I suppose he was teaching Sunday school," Faith said after a little hesitation.

"Why, is one to be forever teaching Sunday school?" said the farmer in a discontented tone.

"Why not?" said Faith,--"as long as there are people to be taught?"

"Don't you want to take hold and teach me now?" said Mr. Simlins.

Faith did not know at all what to make of this question; and before she had found an answer that would do, she was saved making any. For Mr.

Linden, with even brisker steps than theirs, came up behind them; and after a bright "Good evening, Mr. Simlins," uttered a somewhat surprised "Miss Faith!"

"Yes," said Mr. Simlins, "here she is; and I'm goin' along to see that nothing happens to her. She goes to take care o' somebody else,--and I come after to take care o' her; so we go. We all give each other a deal o' trouble in this world!"

"Am I expected to take care of you, Mr. Simlins, by the same rule?--I came after."

"Well!--I don't know," said the farmer "I guess there'll be n.o.body to take care of me. I'm past taking care of."

"What does that mean?" said Mr. Linden.

"How would you like the job?" said Mr. Simlins. "Think it 'ud be easy?"

"Why I should like to know a little more about the job before I express any opinion."

"I have an opinion," said Mr. Simlins, "that you don't know much o'

farming. Guess it's correct, aint it?"

"What kind of farming?" inquired Mr. Linden again.

"I don't know more'n one kind. Tillin' the earth, to bring out the produce of it."

"I have seen something of another kind," said Mr. Linden; "it is this:--'Sow to yourselves in righteousness, reap in mercy; break up your fallow ground: for it is time to seek the Lord, till he return and rain righteousness upon you.'"

Mr. Simlins wasn't quick to answer that, and there was silence for a minute or two, only broken by their footsteps.

"Well--" he said slowly at length,--"suppos 'n a piece o' ground bears as good a crop as it has soil for, hadn't you ought to be contented with it?"