"Good Lord!" he exclaimed, "you are little Faith Winton!"
She frowned, drawing herself up a little.
"I am Faith Winton, but how do you know? Have I ever—" She broke off, staring at him. "Why, it's impossible. You can't be that boy!"
"I used to be," he told her. "I've grown a little, since."
"Angus! Angus Mackay!" she cried, her face lighting swiftly. "Oh, I know you now. I've never forgotten. And your sister's doughnuts! How good they were, and how good you were to me!" She leaned forward, catching his great, brown, work-hardened paws in her slim hands. "Oh, I'm so glad to see you again, Ang—I mean Mr. Mackay."
"My name is still Angus."
"Oh, but that was years ago. How did you recognize me? I was such a little girl. To think of meeting you again—like this!"
"I knew you by your lisp," he told her. "And I wish you would call me 'Angus.'"
"Well—Anguth!" She said it with the old lisp. "I can't help it sometimes," she confessed. "I struggle and struggle, and then I forget myself and—lithp. Do you mind it very much?"
"I like it."