"I like that best," Margaret said, as she drew Salome down on a sofa by her side. "Why, how you're trembling! And your hands are quite cold!"
"Poor child! We have made her nervous, I fear," Mr. Fowler remarked. "Used your mother to sing, my dear?"
"Yes, sir, sometimes, and father used to sing in the choir, but he doesn't now. If you please," she proceeded, glancing from one to the other hesitatingly, "I think I ought to go home. Father promised to meet me outside the gate at seven o'clock, and it must be that now."
"It is a little after seven," Mr. Fowler replied, glancing at his watch.
"Then I think I must go, sir."
"You must come again soon," Mrs. Fowler said eagerly. "Thank you so much, my dear, for singing to us. You have given us very great pleasure."
"I am very glad," Salome rejoined simply and earnestly, "and I should like to tell you how much I have enjoyed myself; and thank you for all your kindness to me."
True to his promise, Josiah Petherick was waiting for his little daughter in the road outside the entrance to Greystone. He was perfectly sober, and as Salome caught sight of his stalwart figure, her face lit up with pleasure.
"Well, have you had an enjoyable time?" he inquired, smilingly.
"Oh, yes," she answered, and proceeded to give him a detailed account of all she had seen, and heard, and done. He admired Margaret's gift, and was secretly much gratified at the attention and kindness his little girl had received from the new-comers. Much to her relief, he accompanied her past the "Crab and Cockle," though it must be admitted, he cast a longing glance in the direction of the open doorway through which the stale odour of tobacco and beer was stealing forth as usual. And when they reached home, he followed her into the cottage, and continued the conversation whilst she set about getting supper. She feared he would take himself to the inn as soon as the meal was over, but, instead, he sat down under the porch and gazed thoughtfully out to sea.