That's comforting doctrine—isn't it?" he said smiling as he put up the book.
"How good that is!" said Faith, as much in the spirit of enjoyment as of criticism. But it isn't just Miss Essie. It's more like"—She stopped.
"Well—who? No, it is not Miss Essie."
"I was going to say, Mrs. Somers—but it is not Mrs. Somers, either.
She is more kind than that."
"Yes, I think so—though she keeps her kindness under lock and key, like her sweetmeats. Miss Faith, shall I give you a loophole view of those boys—before you venture yourself among them?"
She said yes, with a bright face that shewed her primed for any enjoyment, or anything else perhaps, he might propose. He knew the house, apparently, and led her out of one door and in at another, giving her little undertone remarks by the way.
"I know you and I agree in some of our notions about pleasant things," he said, "or I should not presume that you would find this one. To some people, you know, boys are mere receivers for Latin and Greek—to me they are separate little pieces of humanity. I study them quite as much as they do their lessons. Now you shall see them off their guard. This room is dark—but I know the way."
He took her hand as he spoke, and led her through the darkness to a spot of shaded light at the further end of the room, whence too came laughter and voices; then drew back the curtain from a sash door and let her look in.
It was pleasant, as he said,—the room was glowing with light, the boys in a knot about the fire; some sitting, some standing, one or two couchant upon the rug. Sam was the spokesman just then—the rest listening, interrupting, applauding; the flashing firelight shewing such different faces! such varied indications!—they looked like a little Congress of representatives.
"What are they doing, Mr. Linden? Sam is having a good time!—and all the rest of them for that matter."