"What sort of a world have you got into?" said Dr. Harrison somewhat impatiently. "No--the actual extent of your and my consciousness--of that field of action and perception which we magnificently call our world! What a mighty limited field it is!" "I think you describe it correctly," said Mr. Linden: "it is both mighty and limited. A little space railed off for every man--and yet larger than that man can ever fill." "It seems to me too insignificant to be worth filling." "There is a little outlet on every side that makes it impossible to fill!" "What do you mean?" "I mean, that while our action at every step touches other people, and their consequent action moves on with like effect, the limits of our power in this world can never be known." "Will you think me impertinent if I ask once more what you mean?--or rather, ask you to enlarge a little?" "If a man plants the first clover seed or thistle-down in some great continent," said Mr. Linden, "from whose little field is it, that in a hundred years the whole land bears thistles or clover?" "It won't," said the doctor, "if a hundred other things are sown at the same time. And so it seems to me in life--that one action is counteracted by another, universally,--and nothing makes anything!--of any avail." "If _nothing_ is of any avail, things don't counteract each other. You are proving my position." The doctor smiled, not unpleasantly. "I see," he said, "you can maintain any position you choose to take,--on the ground or in the air! I must give way to you on _this_ ground." And Dr. Harrison reined back his horse and came into Faith's neighbourhood. "Miss Derrick, the road is getting too contracted for such a procession--will you draw bridle?" "I don't want to ride behind, Dr. Harrison," said Faith looking laughingly back at him. "I'll go on in front." Which she did, so briskly that the doctor had to bestir himself to come up with her. "I didn't know," he said, and he spoke somewhat in earnest,--"I didn't know that you cared anything about eminence or preëminence." "Didn't you, Dr. Harrison?" "_Do_ you?" "I don't know--" said Faith gravely. "Eminence?--yes, I should care very much for that, in some things. Not for preëminence, I think. There's Mr. Simlins!--and I must speak to him." Faith's horse which had been on an easy canter, came to a stand; and so must the doctor. Mr. Simlins too was on horseback. "Mr. Simlins," said Faith after giving him her hand, "will you have half a day's leisure Monday or Tuesday?" "Leisure?" said the farmer with his best growl--"no, I sha'n't have it if you take it." "Do you think I may take it?" "I don't suppose there's anybody that can hinder you," said Mr. Simlins--"without excepting my own identity. _I_ can't. Do you want to go up yonder again?" The doctor interposed to make offers of his father's horses, carriage, and servants; but Faith quietly negatived them all.