"I wonder if he's been studying too!" said Mrs. Stoutenburgh.--"What are the two things? Miss Essie, your coffee's just as cold as Faith's ice is warm!--that comes of talking when you ought to be eating. Mr. Linden--just help Mr. Stoutenburgh with that little table, please--and I'll have the coffee-pot here and be comfortable." "And I shall tell Miss Essie a story about fishes," said Mr. Linden as he obeyed. Mrs. Stoutenburgh sat down behind her coffee-pot, while the gentlemen went back and forth between the two tables, bringing cups and cake and what else was needed for this "German cotillion," as Mr. Linden called it. During which interlude Miss Essie, after taking an observant view of Faith, gave her a significant private admonition, that "somebody" would not like her being there. Faith in vain endeavoured to get some light on this dark information; Miss Essie was startling but enigmatical, and suddenly turned from her and asked Mr. Linden "what was the story he had promised?" "Not much of a _story_, though I called it one. It has to do with the way different races of fishes _wear their bones_." "Well?" said Miss Essie, using her eyes; while Faith forgot her flushed cheeks and used hers. "You are perhaps aware," he said smiling, "that even fishes have their inflexible points; in other words, a region of bone _somewhere_." Miss Essie bowed her head, mentally ejaculating, "You have!" "And all the fossil tribes, as well as those which now exist, are divided into two great classes,--those which wear their bones on the outside, and those which wear them within. The first have a perfect plate armour--jointed and fitted and carved, piece by piece; but the inner framework is merely cartilaginous. The others, while they _shew_ nothing but pliant flesh, have an internal structure of bone which can outlast ages." "Curious!" said Miss Essie, eying him all the while carefully. "Then I suppose we are all fishes!" "I was thinking--apropos to our talk awhile ago--of the intangible, unseen nature of a Christian's strength. The moment his defence is worn on the outside, that moment there is a failure of strength within. His real armour of proof is nothing more 'rigid,' Miss Essie, than 'the girdle of truth,' 'the breastplate of righteousness,' and 'for a helmet the hope of salvation.'" "Very good armour," said Miss Essie; "but can't he wear it without being unlike other people?" "_Can_ he?" "Look here," said Squire Stoutenburgh, "what have you been about? If you've been studying anatomy, Mr. Linden, I'll go learn dancing!" And the conversation diverged. CHAPTER XXXII.