surveying the signature.
"I believe," said Miss Cecilia, "he is very popular in the school."
"Well, Squire," pursued Mr. Simlins, "can Joe clinch this?"
"He aint with me—if that's what you mean," said Squire Deacon. "A man's writing don't prove much."
"Don't go no furder," said Mr. Simlins assentingly. "Well Squire—if you'll go furder I shall be wiser."
And freed from the fear of contradiction, the Squire had not the least objection to going further.
"He's not the man to have here," said Squire Deacon,—"I saw that the first day I saw him. I tried him,—and he didn't toe the mark."
"How did you try him?" growled Mr. Simlins. "I'd like to know how much he's up to. I haint found it out yet."
"I tried him, sir," said the Squire, "I tried him with a classical story. Now Miss Faith gave in at once, and said she didn't know what it was; but t'other one made believe as though he knew all about it. And if a man aint classical, Mr. Simlins, what is he?"
"I aint classical," growled Mr. Simlins again, "but then I don't set up for to be. I s'pose that makes a difference, Squire; don't it?"
"Some people's more than they set out to be, and some people's less," replied the Squire.
"Well,—does he set up for to be classical in school? What does he teach 'em?"
"I reckon he sets up for 'most everything he ever heard spoke of, Mr. Simlins. Teach 'em? why he teaches 'em out of all sorts o' superflus books!"
"Does!" said Mr. Simlins with a surprised look. "Our boys don't want none o' your superficies. They've got their bread to make. Give us an invoice o' them books, Squire."
"Just you look at 'em for yourself, Mr. Simlins—then you'll know. Step down there some day in school time and look over the boys. Now I can understand figurs with any man, but what's the use o' crosses and straight lines and Vs turned wrong side up?"
Mr. Simlins pushed back his chair and rubbed his chin.
"Well Squire—you and me are trustees—what in your judgment and opinion had we ought to do, in these precedents?"
"Get rid on him—I say," replied the Squire promptly. "Then here he is, leadin' all the girls round town, and for all any one of 'em knows he's a married man."
"Humph I think so?—What do the folks say of him?" said Mr. Simlins. "There's Mrs. Derrick—what does she say of him—he's in her house, she ought to have an idee. And Faith—now I'd take that gal's judgment on a most anything—What do they think about him, Squire?"
"Never asked 'em a word," said the Squire stoutly—"nor heard 'em say one, neither. But he gets fur'n letters all the time, Widow Stamp says—and female writin' too. Who knows but he's got a wife in some fur'n country?—or two"—added the Squire, without specifying where the plural belonged. "I'm a justice of peace, Mr. Simlins, and this shouldn't be let go on."
Mr. Simlins looked up from under his brows with a queer look at his host.
"If he has two, he must want the school—bad!"—said he. "Well Squire, I'll go along and see what can be done. If I was you, mean time, I'd not say much to no one. There's Judge Harrison, you know;—we can't act without him. Good night t'ye! Squire, I guess he haint two?—Anyhow, I wouldn't let fly no warrants till I saw my bird sitting somewhere. It's bad to have 'em hit in a wrong place."
And it was well it was darkish and nobody to look at him; for Mr. Simlins went grinning pretty much all the way between Squire Deacon's house and the house of Mrs. Derrick, where Mr. Linden was entertaining his shadow in the moonlit porch.
"Good even to you!" growled Mr. Simlins as he came up. The grin was gone, and the farmer stood with his wonted solemnity of face and manner. "Where's the rest o' your folks?"
"The rest of my folks are a good way off, Mr. Simlins," said the person addressed, giving the questioner his hand; while his shadow exchanged civilities with the shadow of Mr. Simlins. "When did you come back? I am glad to see you?"
"I'm glad to see myself," said Mr. Simlins. "There's no State likeConnecticut, sir. Where's your bringin' up place?
"No one place has had that honour, Mr. Simlins,—I have been brought up from one to another."
"Not Connecticut, eh?"
"Not altogether—I am here just now, as you see,—getting a part of my education. I am one of the Say and Seal people in a way. Won't you come in, Mr. Simlins?"
"Well—I'd as lief see Faith and Mrs. Derrick as a'most any other two folks in Pattaquasset,—but they're a long ways off, you say?"
"No further than the parlour, I believe."
Mr. Simlins was willing to go as far as the parlour, and so the party on the porch adjourned thither. A bright lamp lit the room, by which Faith was mending stockings; while Mrs. Derrick sat in an easy chair a little further off, rocking and knitting.
"Well," said Mr. Simlins, "when the sun goes down I think it is time to knock off work; but womenkind don't seem to think so."
"I guess when the sun goes down your work's knocked off, Mr. Simlins," said Mrs. Derrick.
"Fact, Mrs. Derrick, when I'm to home; but when a man's visiting he has to work night and day. Moonlight's moonlight now. I declare, in Jersey I thought it was broad sunshine.—You haven't been down to my place yet, Mr. Linden?"
"No sir, not within the gate."
"The Simlins' have held that place, sir, off and on, for nigh three hundred years. We're a good many Simlins'—and we're a good set, I'll say it! a pretty good set. Not thin-skinned, you know,—we can take a scratch without bein' killed—but we never would stand bein' trampled on. We're soft-hearted too; plenty o' what I may call tendrils, ready to take hold of anything; and when we take hold we do take hold. We cover a good deal of ground in the country, here and elsewhere—in the various branches. My mother was a Mush, and my grandmother was a Citron; a good families those, sir; can't do better than take a wife from one of them, Mr. Linden, if you are so disposed;—you haven't got one already, have you?"
"What, sir?" said Mr. Linden, with more sharpness than he often shewed, and which made Mrs. Derrick drop her knitting and look up.
"I thought you wasn't a married man—are you?" said Mr. Simlins, the grin just shewing itself again on his face.
"Is that one of the charges brought against me?" said Mr. Linden, a little too roused himself to pay much heed to Mr. Simlins' questions.
"Well I didn't know as you'd think it a 'charge,'" said Mr. Simlins with an unchanged tone. "I guess you mean to make it true some day, don't you?"
The question fell unheeded—the charge did not; it touched him deeply; touched the proud sense of character; though no words gave evidence of the fact.
"Faith, child," said Mrs. Derrick in that moment of silence, her whisper as low as she thought would reach across the table, "ought we to be here?"
But a very emphatic, "Yes!" from the window, prevented the need ofFaith's answer.
"I
