"No," said Faith, looking at him with a sunshiny smile;—"I want to be better, Mr. Simlins."
"Better!"—growled Mr. Simlins. "You go hang yourself!—I wish you was better. If you aint happy—I wish the Simlins' may be—an extant race!"
The extraordinary combination of wishes in this speech took away
Faith's breath for an answer. She waited for something more.
"What was that fellow doing there?" growled the farmer after a while.
"I suppose he was teaching Sunday school," Faith said after a little hesitation.
"Why, is one to be forever teaching Sunday school?" said the farmer in a discontented tone.
"Why not?" said Faith,—"as long as there are people to be taught?"
"Don't you want to take hold and teach me now?" said Mr. Simlins.
Faith did not know at all what to make of this question; and before she had found an answer that would do, she was saved making any. For Mr. Linden, with even brisker steps than theirs, came up behind them; and after a bright "Good evening, Mr. Simlins," uttered a somewhat surprised "Miss Faith!"
"Yes," said Mr. Simlins, "here she is; and I'm goin' along to see that nothing happens to her. She goes to take care o' somebody else,—and I come after to take care o' her; so we go. We all give each other a deal o' trouble in this world!"