"No," said the doctor, with another side look at him—"I suppose as much. I see you're a philosopher. Do you carry a spirit-level about with you?"
"Define—" said Mr. Linden, with a smile which certainly belonged to the last philosopher he had been in company with.
"I see you do," said the doctor. "What's your opinion of philosophy? that it adds to the happiness of the world in general?"
"You ask broad questions, Dr. Harrison—considering the many kinds of philosophy, and the unphilosophical state of the world in general."
The doctor laughed a little. "I don't know," said he,—"I sometimes think the terms have changed sides, and that 'the world in general' has really the best of it. But do you know what particular path in Pattaquasset we are treading at this minute?"
"A path where philosophy and happiness are supposed to part company, I imagine," said Mr. Linden.
"Pre-cisely—" said the doctor. "By the way, if anything in my father's house or library can be of the least convenience to you while you are travelling the somewhat unfurnished ways of Pattaquasset, I hope you will use both as your own.—Yes, I am taking you to the supper table—or indeed they are plural to-night—Sophy, I have brought Mr. Linden to you, and I leave you to do what you will with him!"
CHAPTER XIV.
With a slight congee the doctor left thorn and went back again; and then came the full rush of all the guests, small and great. Miss Harrison claimed Mr. Linden's assistance to marshal and arrange the boys at their table—one being given specially to them; and then established him as well as circumstances permitted at another—between Miss Cecilia Deacon and Miss Essie de Staff. Miss Harrison herself did not sit down. The guests were many, the servants far too few; and Miss Harrison and her brother with one or two helpers, of whom Faith was one, went round from table to table; attending to everybody's wants. The supply of all eatables and drinkables was ample and perfect enough; but without the quick and skilful eyes and hands of these educated waiters, the company could not have been entirely put in possession of them. So Faith's red oak leaves did after all adorn the entertainment, and publicly, though most unconsciously on her part.
"Reuben," she whispered at his shoulder, "there are no roast clams here—shall I give you some jelly? I see you have got substantials."