"So I am, mother," she said;--"but I am one that he teaches at home. I have learned all I know from him," she said, covering her eyes with both hands. "Why child, hush!" said her mother softly--"I didn't mean to say anything,--how should I know? So you're teaching Charley Seacomb, hey?--well I'm sure he wants it bad enough. I guess I'd better go too, next Sabbath,--it was real lonesome with you all gone. And that makes me think, child--I wonder if you could go a little way for me after meeting?" "Go to Sunday school, mother!" said Faith shewing her bright wet eyes. "Will you teach some children, mother?" Written letters don't give the intonation of these words. "I guess they could teach me, some of 'em," said her mother. "But I thought maybe, Faith, you'd take Sally Loundes some medicine--she sent word for it, and I don't know as I can get so far to-day. Mr. Linden does have a class, don't he?" "I can go just as well as not, and like it very much, mother. O yes--he has a class of course--a class of some of the biggest boys--a large class." "I wonder what _he_ does with himself after meeting," said Mrs. Derrick. "Folks do say he goes strolling round, but I don't believe it." "Mother! Folks say everything, I believe. He knows what he does." "Maybe _you_ wouldn't like to be seen out on Sabbath?" said Mrs. Derrick, with sudden thought. "Because if you wouldn't, Faith, I'll go myself to Sally's--can or no can." "No, mother--" she said brightly,--"I would like to go. If I know I am doing right, I don't mind about being seen. I wish people had as good reason for telling tales about me, as they have for some others." "I guess your class 'll fill up,--" said her mother, with her fond, wistful look at the only thing she had in the world. It was the fairest, still, sweet afternoon, when after church Faith got the medicine for Sally Loundes and set out to take it to her. So fair and lovely, that Faith hardly considered much the features of the road she travelled; in that light any piece of ground was beautiful. The road was very lonely after a little part of the village had been gone through. It left the main street, then bid farewell to a few scattering distant houses and approached what was called Barley Point;--a barren piece of ground from which a beautiful view of the Sound and the ocean line, and perhaps porpoises, could be had. But at the foot of this field the road turned, round the end of that belt of woods spoken of; and getting on the other side of it ran back eastward towards the Lighthouse point. Between the woods and the sea, on this side, was a narrow down that the farmers could make little of; and here the road, if desolate, had a beauty of its own. On Faith's right was this strip of tolling downs, grown with nothing but short grass and low blackberry vines; and close at hand, just beyond its undulating line, the waves of the sea beating in. Very little waves to-day, everything was so quiet.