"How do you like the shore to-day?" said Faith, dropping her voice, and giving a glance of her eye to the fair, cool sunlight colours on the water and shore and shipping--fresh as the very sea-breeze itself, and glittering as the water's thousand mirrors could make them. He turned and looked again, drawing in the breeze with a deep breath that more than answered her question. "How do you like this?" he said, handing her through the window a little miniature tree of red sea-weed. Then, while she examined it, he repeated,-- "'When descends on the Atlantic The gigantic Storm-wind of the equinox, Landward in his wrath he scourges The toiling surges, Laden with sea-weed from the rocks; "'From Bermuda's reefs; from edges Of sunken ledges, In some far-off, bright Azore; From Bahama, and the dashing, Silver-flashing Surges of San Salvador; "'From the tumbling surf that buries The Orkneyan skerries, Answering the hoarse Hebrides; And from wrecks of ships, and drifting Spars, uplifting On the desolate, rainy seas;-- "'Ever drifting, drifting, drifting On the shifting Currents of the restless main; Till in shelter d coves, and reaches Of sandy beaches, All have found repose again.'" Faith's eye was upon the sprig of sea-weed while these verses were repeating,--then she looked up at the speaker with an intenseness in which oddly mingled some strong feeling of sorrow or regret. "It's beautiful!"--she said,--"beautiful!--both the one and the other. But there are a great many things there I don't understand,"--she added once more with a smile. "If there was time--but there isn't.--Mr. Linden, Reuben and I have been roasting clams." "Yes, Miss Faith," he said answering the smile and stepping nearer the window. "So one of my senses informed me. Do you know what that is in your hand?" "It's sea-weed, isn't it?" "Yes. And moreover--Miss Faith, that is part of your marine Flora. Now what about the clams?" "My _what?_" said Faith. "First tell me, please, what you said." "Your marine Flora." "What is that?" "The particular department of life in the sea, of which this is a specimen." Faith looked puzzled, and amused. "You don't mean to enlighten me more than you can help," she said. "But why do you call it Flora? you used that word before. And oh Mr. Linden--You can't tell me now, for supper's all ready." His eyes looked amused too, and laying a clover head on the window, he said, "That is part of your land Flora,"--then pushed the shutter to rather quick, but softly; and Faith heard the reason thereof as follows. "Wal sir--ef this be you, I've looked all over for you." "How was it that you overlooked me then, sir?" was Mr. Linden's reply. "Don't jes know," laughed Jem Williams,--"but Miss Cilly Deacon wants you the worst kind." "And where shall I go to receive her commands?" said Mr. Linden.