case you wanted help to make up your mind. The Citrons are all gone to New Jersey—there's a few of the Mushes ramblin' round Connecticut yet. Well Mr. Linden—I hope you and your boys get on commodiously together?"
"Just look into that basket on the table, and see what one of em brought him to-night," said Mrs. Derrick. "Those are Stoutenburgh Sweetings, Mr. Simlins."
Mr. Simlins looked at the Sweetings and then looked towards the window.
"I'd like to hear you speak a little on that point," he said. "Fact is, there's been some winds blowin' about Pattaquasset that aint come off beds o' roses; and I'd like to find where the pison is and clap a stopper on it for the future. It's easy done."
Mr. Linden looked up with his usual expression, only the smile was grave and a little moved, and answered,
"I could say a good deal on that point, Mr. Simlins. Yet I had rather you should ask the boys than me."
"Don't want to ask the boys nothin', bless you!" said Mr. Simlins. "What I want to say is this;—what's the matter between you and the Squire? I've been askin' him, and he says you learn the boys to make a V wrong side upward—I can't make nothin' of that," said Mr. Simlins, with again the approach to a grin;—"'taint over easy to tell whether his Vs are one side up or 'tother. Now I'd like to know from you where the hitch is. The Squire aint likely to set the Mong in a configuration just yet—but if he's swingin' a torch round, I'd jest as lief put it out afore the sharks fly."
"But Mr. Simlins, don't you think it is rather hard measure to ask me why people dislike me?"
"Well—I don't see as I do," said Mr. Simlins placidly;—"'cause I know pretty well it's some chymistry idee of his own; and if I could get hold of it, you see, I should have a better handle. I guess the school never went on better than it's goin'; he don't know beans."
"How do you know that I do?" said Mr. Linden smiling. "Why don't you ask him? I think at least half his ill will arises from a mistake."
"Have asked him," said Mr. Simlins—"just come from there;—but he's pretty much like them V's we were speakin' about; don't spell nothin'. What's his mistake about then? if I knowed that, I could bring things to a concert."
"Why," said Mr. Linden with grave deliberation, "suppose he wants to buy your house? and takes a walk up that way to set forth his terms."
"Well—suppose he does"—said Mr. Simlins attentively.
"He finds you and Judge Harrison in the porch, you talk about the crops and the weather, and he tells you he wants your house. What do you say to him?"
"I tell him I don't sell it to no one but a Simlins—nor that neither till I can't live in it no longer myself."
"Is that your fault—or Judge Harrison's?" said Mr. Linden, setting the basket of Stoutenburgh Sweetings on the little table in the full light of the lamp. "Miss Faith, if those are 'sweetenings,' they may as well do their office."
The farmer sat with his elbows on his knees, touching the tips of his fingers together in thoughtful fashion, and softly blowing the breath through his lips in a way that might have reached the dignity of a whistle if it had had a trifle more of musicalness.
"Is them the sort of lessons you give in school?" he said at length without stirring.
"Why?" said Mr. Linden with a little bit of a smile.
"Ingen-uous," said Mr. Simlins. "It's as good as a book, Mrs. Derrick," added he glancing up at the rocking chair, "is Squire Deacon wantin' to buy your house?"
"My!" said Mrs. Derrick, again laying down her knitting, "can't he be content with his own? I hope he don't want ours," she added, some fear mingling with her surprise.
"Miss Faith," said Mr. Linden, "do you think if I gave you an apple you would give me a knife?"
"I hope he don't," growled Mr. Simlins as he rose up. "I never heerd that he did. Miss Faith—them Stoutenburgh Sweetings is good eatin'." Faith after setting a pile of plates and knives on the table, had taken up her stocking again.
"Yes Mr. Simlins—I know they are."
"Then why don't you eat one?"
"I don't want it just now, Mr. Simlins—I'd rather finish my work."
"Work!" said the farmer taking an apple. "Well—good evening! I'll go and look after my work. I guess we'll fix it. There's a sight o' work in the world!"
With which moral reflection Mr. Simlins departed.
"There'll be more work than sight, at this rate," said Mr. Linden when he came back from the front door. "Mrs. Derrick, how many stockings does Miss Faith absolutely require for one day?"
"Why I don't know sir—and I don't believe I ever did know since she was big enough to run about," said Mrs. Derrick, her mind still dwelling upon the house.
"Miss Faith, my question stands transferred to you."
"Why you know," said Faith, intent upon the motions of her needle,—"I might require to mend in one day what would last me to wear a good many—and I do."
"But,
'The day is done—and the darkness Falls from the wing of night.'"
"I never mend stockings till then," said Faith smiling over her work."Are Sam's apples good?"
"By reputation."
"I thought you were trying them! Why you asked me for a knife, Mr.Linden—and I brought it."
"I'm sure I gave you an apple. Perhaps you thought it was a ball of darning cotton."
"No, I didn't," said Faith laughing. "But what use is my apple to your knife, Mr. Linden?"
"Not much—it has served the purposes of trade."
"But what is the purpose of trade, Mr. Linden, if the articles aren't wanted?"
"I see you are dissatisfied with your bargain," he said. "Well, I will be generous—you shall have the knife too;" and Mr. Linden walked away from the table and went upstairs.
The parlour was very still after that. Faith's needle, indeed, worked with more zeal than ever, but Mrs. Derrick rolled up her knitting and put it in her basket, sighing a little as she did so: then sat and thought.
"Faith, child," she said after a long pause, "do you think the Squire would ever take our house?"
Faith hesitated, and the answer when it came was not satisfactory.
"I don't know, mother."
Mrs. Derrick sighed again, and leaned back in her chair, and rocked; the rockers creaking in rather doleful sympathy with her thoughts. Then an owl on a tree before the door hooted at the world generally, though Mrs. Derrick evidently thought his remarks personal.
"I can't think why he should do that to-night, of all nights in the year!" she said, sitting straight up in her chair. "It never did mean good. Faith—what should we do if he did?"—this time she meant the Squire, not the owl.
"Mother!"—said Faith, and then she spoke in her usual tone.—"We'd find a way."
"Well!—"
