“I will bring you some confections,” she said, and tripped away once more, returning with a plate of cake and bonbons.
“I hope you find the tea to your taste?” she said.
“It could not be better,” he replied.
He could see she was scanning his face with an inquiring look, as if endeavoring to solve a perplexing question—whether the stranger in working clothes who rescued her from the arms of the assaulting soldiers and this gentleman in fitting costume for genteel society were one and the same. “Can it be he?” was the question revolving in her thoughts. The countryman was tall, stout, and broad-shouldered; so was Mr. Walden. She saw resolution and indignation in the face of the stranger. Could not the face before her exhibit like qualities under like provocation? She must find out during the afternoon, if possible, whether or not Mr. Walden was her benefactor. If so, what should she say to him—how make known her gratitude?
“And so you are from New Hampshire, Mr. Walden?” she said inquiringly.
“Yes, and this is my first visit to Boston.”
“I dare say you find things somewhat different here from what they are there.”
“Oh yes. In Rumford the houses are scattered; but here they are as thick as spatter. There isn’t near so many things going on there as here.”
“I think it must be delightful to live in the country, among the green fields and pastures, and have chickens and goslins, and see the lambs play.”