"Only one!" said Mrs. Derrick—"besides you, do you mean, child?"
"Mother!"—said Faith. Then smiling she added, "Yes, mother—only one besides me. That one is little Charley Seacomb—and I am trying to teach him."
"Why I thought you were in Mr. Linden's class!" said Mrs. Derrick, facing round.
But Faith's face flushed, and what was very uncommon with her, the tears came too.
"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."