Little Charles twelfth did not come to meet his Sunday school teacher, as had been arranged, the Sunday preceding the Neanticut expedition. Faith waited for him in the morning--waited and hoped,--but was not greatly surprised to find that she had waited in vain. Charles the twelfth, whether or not he was to follow during life the erratic and wilful course of his namesake, was that day at least not to be led by her. So Faith went to church, meditating a sometime descent upon Mrs. Seacomb's shady domain, there to meet and recapture the heart of her little charge. For so he seemed to her now. But on her return from the morning service, she found Charles the twelfth, crest-fallen and repentant, in his turn waiting for her. The matter was, his brother Americus Vespucius had shut him up, so that he couldn't come; and as soon as he was set free Charles the twelfth had used his freedom and his legs in 'making tracks,' to use Mr. Simlins' expression, for Mrs. Derrick's abode; and on this occasion he had made many fewer 'tracks' than the afternoon of his previously recorded invasion; as being somewhat burdened in spirit he had stopped for no somersets, and had been lured aside by no tempting invitations of a dusty place or a mudpuddle. Faith heard his story gravely and sympathizingly; comforted him up; encouraged him to hope that the discoverer of America would not prove so adverse to _his_ making discoveries another Sunday; gave him a little talk and a good dinner, and sent him home cheerful and determined. The very mood for success; accordingly the next morning after the return from Neanticut, being Sunday, Charles the twelfth presented himself at the house in brave good time; and Faith and her little charge, for the first time in their lives both of them, went to Sunday school. The child very important and expectant; the teacher very gentle and very grave indeed.