"Stop, Miss Dalzell," cried Skaife hastily; "we had better cross the path-field."
"'Tis longer round," she rejoined; "aunt Dorcas will be tired, and this is a favourite walk of mine," and she moved on.
"You should obey your pastors and masters," he answered, smiling, and yet he seemed embarrassed; "and, as one of the former, I don't command, but may I ask you to cross the path-field, it looks so inviting with its tall grass; and see, there's a pet of yours—a lark rising upwards to allure you."
"Aunty, will it be too far for you? No? then we will oblige our pastor."
Skaife looked delighted as he assisted Aunt Dorcas over the stile. Minnie was over like a sportive thistledown blown by roving breeze; scarcely had she stepped on the other side of the stile when a little girl followed her, passed, and stopped beside Mr. Skaife.
"Oh, if you please, good sir," she said, "my mother saw you passing at the end of the lane, and bade me run after you with this book; you left it at poor sick Mary Burns's," and the child tendered a book. Both Aunt Dorcas and Minnie stopped, Mr. Skaife was colouring and confused. "Thank you," he answered, hurriedly taking it; "that will do." He endeavoured to pass on.
"And if you please, sir," continued the child, "mother bid me say, that after you left Mary Burns at three this morning, she was so much comforted by your kind words and reading, that she slept for hours, and when she awoke promised mother never to try and kill herself again."
"What is this, dear?" asked Minnie, placing a hand on the child's shoulder.
"Nothing, never mind, Miss Dalzell," said he; "let us continue our walk."
"No," answered she; "I am curious, I wish to know. What was it, dear?"