At the Lighthouse point, a mile or more on, was a little settlement of fishermen and others; but only one house stood on the way, and that hardly disturbed the monotony or the solitude; it was so little, so brown, and looked so of a piece with the barren country. That was Sally Loundes' house. Faith met nobody till she got there. When Faith came out of the house, the sun's place warned her she would have no time to spare to get home. She set off with quicker pace, though nowise concerned about it. There was no danger of anything in Pattaquasset. But she had gone only a little part of her wild homeward way when she met Mr. Simlins. Now Mr. Simlins was accustomed to take an afternoon Sunday stroll and sometimes a long one; so it was no matter of surprise to meet him, nor even to meet him there, for Mr. Simlins was as independent in his choice of a walk as in everything else. But _he_ was surprised. "Hullo! my passenger pigeon," he exclaimed. "Why are you here all alone, in this unfrequent place?" "It's a very nice place," said Faith. "And it's not disagreeable to be alone--though I am willing to meet you, Mr. Simlins." "Haven't been quarrelling with anybody, have you?" "No," said Faith, giving an amused look to this view of the subject. "Do I look quarrelsome, Mr. Simlins?" "I don't know how you look!" said the farmer. "I aint anything of an exposition. You'll have to ask somebody else. There's some words too hard for me to spell and pro-nounce. Where have you been?" "Just to carry Sally Loundes some medicine mother had for her." "Where are you goin' now?" "Home." "Goin' alone?" "Why, yes. Why not?" "Don' know," said Mr. Simlins,--"only I'm going part way, and I'll see nothin' happens to you as long as _I_'m in your consort." It was a wild place enough to make company pleasant. Dark clumps of forest-trees on one hand grew near together, and the spaces between, though cleared, looked hardly less wild; for vines and sumach and ferns had taken possession. The sun's rays yet lay warm on the rolling downs, the sere grass and the purplish blackberry vines, and sparkled on the waves beyond; but when Mr. Simlins and Faith struck into the woods for a 'short cut,' the shadowy solitude closed them in on all sides. Softly their steps moved over the fallen pine leaves, or rustled through the shreds of autumn finery that lay beneath oak and maple, and nothing else but birds and squirrels broke the stillness till they were near the further edge of the wood. There they heard a soft murmur of voices. "Who lives here?" said Mr. Simlins. But Faith held her breath. "There's mortality here, where I thought there was nothing but animals and vegetation," said Mr. Simlins stepping softly and cautiously forward. "Let's see--don't make no noise more'n the leaves 'll let you. I shouldn't think anything would come to a meetin' here but a wood-chuck--and they're skeered if they see a shadow."