"I don't know why. I simply know you haven't, any more than I have to be untidy or disagreeable. I never realized until I came to be always among so many people how each one could pain or please her neighbor. And it seems to me each of us should be the sweetest, the best natured, the truest, it is possible. Heigho! I'm turning a preacher, and it's a good thing that there's the office, and I must stop. Brace your courage, Amy, and knock at the door."
She did so and was promptly admitted; but did not see the superintendent, who thus served her, for he purposely stepped behind the door, so that her first glance fell upon Hallam seated at the sloping table and busily at work. She caught her breath, regained it, and rushed forward with a little shriek.
"Hallam! Hallam Kaye! You here! you—working?"
"Yes; I'm here. My first day at wage-earning. Didn't provide any lunch. Can you spare some for me? Ah, Gwendolyn, good day."
Then another person appeared in the doorway—one whom nobody present cared to see just then, though the superintendent stepped from his hiding-place, the mirth dying out of his genial face as he bowed respectfully to his superior, Mr. Archibald Wingate, the owner of Ardsley Mill and of most of the surrounding property.
"Good day, Metcalf. Eh? What? Amy? Hallam? You here?"
"Yes, cousin Archibald. We are both here and working for you," answered Amy, quietly. Then she surprised even herself by extending her hand in greeting.