And away he dashed out of the house and began to double-time it up the hill, the three women at home watching from the window in admiring joy.
"He is the best looking fellow that ever was," said Rose. And the mother answered as Cherry had done:
"Yes, but do not tell him so."
"Oh, mother," they cried, "you do it, every time you look at him."
Magnus meanwhile sped lightly up the hill. He had his reasons for liking to go at this particular time; the picture yesterday was too lovely for him not to long to see it again, and it might be that Cherry read to her father every morning. Then what was the book? Cherry had closed it so suddenly upon his coming, that he caught no glimpse of the inside; but the outside stirred his curiosity. It was an old book, bound in the dainty old-time vellum, once marked and embossed with gold; but that was much faded and worn away. It did not look like a Bible, and yet that, Magnus felt, was the correct thing for Cherry—such a girl as she was—to be reading to her father at breakfast time. Other people's duties are marked out in such very distinct lines that even colour blindness is rarely doubtful over them.
But no murmur of voices met him, as he paused at the front door; and something warned him to go quietly round the house to the steps that ran down into the garden. And sure enough, he had his picture, but a different one this time.
A little white-covered tray on the upper step held bread and milk and berries, and on the step below sat Cherry, with a book in her lap. She jumped up at the sound of his footfall, and put the book away, coming back instantly to her place.
"Mr. Erskine out?" Magnus asked, as he took position at her feet.
"Oh, no, not out. It is one of the days when that old bullet wound gives so much trouble that the best thing is to keep quite still."