"Endecott," said Faith joyously,—"Goethe would have more than enough if he was here."
She was not a bad part of the picture herself; fair and glad as she looked, as fair as the May morning and the birds and the sunlight.—
"Isn't this air sweet?"
"Very! But Goethe would choose my point of view. So much depends, in a picture, upon the principal light!"
"I wonder which is the principal light to-day!" said Faith laughing. "How it sparkles all over the river, and then on the young leaves and buds;—and then soft shining on the clouds. And they are all May! Look at those tiny specks of white cloud scattered along the horizon, up there towards Neanticut."
"The principal light to-day," said Mr. Linden, "is one particular sunbeam, which as it were leads off the rest. It's a fair train, altogether!" and he threw the rope into the little vessel, and jumped in himself; then lifting Faith a little from her place, and arranging and disposing of her daintily among shawls and cushions, and putting her unwonted fingers upon the tiller.
"Now Miss Derrick," he said, "before we go any further, I should like to know your estimate and understanding of the power at present in your hands."
"I know what a rudder is good for," said Faith merrily. "I know that this ship, 'though it be so great, and driven of fierce winds, yet is it turned about with a very small helm whithersoever the governor listeth.' That is what you may call theoretical knowledge."
"Clearly your estimate covers the ground! But you perceive, that while you take upon yourself the guiding of the boat—(if I might venture to suggest!—our course lies up the Mong, and not out to sea)—I, with my sail, control the motive power."
"You mean that if I don't go right, you'll drop the sail?"—