She stopped. Old Mr. Cardwell gazed at her as if he had never seen or heard a child talk before.
"Well, I'm dashed!" he said. "There, that's a harmless exclamation! Where on earth do you get your gift of eloquence from? You little insignificant grey moth, talking of personalities that doctors of divinity are chary of mentioning! So you think I could be made content and happy. Will you take me in hand?"
Faith looked puzzled.
"Go on," he said, "talk away. I like to hear you. Perhaps you had better describe this wonderful Timothy to me. Is he a spirit, or is he flesh and blood?"
"Timothy is a shepherd. He has a dog and a little cottage. He lives close to us. I sit on a stool by his fire, and he sits in a big wooden chair and he smokes a pipe—oh, I wish you knew Timothy. Would you like him to come and see you?"
"Indeed I would not!"
There was a grim smile on the invalid's lips, the first that had lingered there for many a long day.
Half an hour later the Pirate came into the room, and found Faith with a happy face chattering to his father as if she had known him all her life.
He told her the trap was at the door, and Faith rose at once and shook hands with the invalid.
"Good-bye, and thank you for talking to me," she said.