Humility thanked him and kissed him passionately. There was something odd with her this afternoon.
“Don’t you like your present?”
“Darling, it is beautiful,” she stooped and kissed him again, passionately.
“I’ve a present for father, too; a book. Why are you walking so fast?” In a little while he asked again, “Why are you walking so fast?”
“I—I thought you would be wanting your tea.”
“Mayn’t I take father his book first?”
She did not answer.
“But mayn’t I?” he persisted.
They had reached the garden-gate. Humility seemed to hesitate. “Yes; go,” she said at length; and he ran, with the De Imitatione Christi under his arm.
As he came within view of the church he saw a knot of men gathered about the door. They were pulling something out from the porch. He heard the noise of hammering, and Squire Moyle, at the back of the crowd, was shouting at the top of his voice: