"Your mother rode home with Mrs. Somers, Miss Faith, and this little shawl was requested to walk home with you," he said, wrapping it round her; for which he received a quiet little "Thank you." He put her hand on his arm, and once past the gate walked very slowly; moderating his steps to hers, and taking the most leisurely pace; perhaps to give her the full sedative effect of the night. Those faint breaths of air, that soft hush of everything, that clear starry sky,--so high, so still,--there was balm in them all. And for a while Mr. Linden let them do their work alone,--then he spoke. "One of my scholars is very tired to night. I'm afraid I have done wrong in letting her walk home." "O no!" said Faith with a little start,--"I like to walk very much, Mr. Linden; it's very pleasant.--And I am not tired," she added in a soft quiet voice. "What is the difference between being tired, and being in want of rest?" She looked at him again, and her words did not come at once. "I suppose the difference is, that in one case you can get what you want--and in the other, you have to wait for it." "Till when?" She laughed, somewhat uneasily, and asked him what he meant. "I hardly know how to make my question plainer, Miss Faith. I suppose I am of an impatient disposition, but the idea of waiting an indefinite time for rest is not pleasant to me." "But can you always get it as soon as you would like to have it?"--Faith asked with a kind of timid doubt, as not knowing but his power might extend so far. "Why not?--seeing rest is like some sweet wind, which cannot blow its soft gale till there is a clear space for it, why should it linger when the space is clear?--why not rest when we are weary?" "But can you always get the clear space for it?" Faith asked, looking at him wonderingly. He smiled. "I am talking of what may be done, Miss Faith--not of what I do. But I wish you would let me try my powers for you to-night. How comes there to be a demand?--how comes there _not_ to be a supply?" "Of rest?" said Faith. "Oh there is! At least," she added reluctantly,--"there will be. There is now, Mr. Linden." "Equal to the demand?" "Why do you ask me?" she said, a little troubled. "I believe I have a bad habit of asking questions," said Mr. Linden--and his tone was apologetic in its very gentleness, "It is partly my fault and partly Pet's." "Partly whose? Mr. Linden," said Faith. "_I_ don't think it's a bad habit. _Whose_ fault, did you say?" "Pet's--my sister's--into whose company I hope to send you soon again." "Oh--I mustn't thank you!"--Faith said, beginning and stopping herself somewhat comically. "I don't know whether you will thank me for taking you past your own gate, which I was about to do," said Mr. Linden. "And I don't know whether the social and astronomical days ought to agree--but Hesperus set some time ago." "I don't understand, Mr. Linden--" said Faith pausing.