The men were too astonished to reply, but gazed at her dumbly. Mike muttered sullenly, as he drove on,—
“An' it's a quare way to be showin' our love, I'm thinkin'.”
“An' it's Miss Hetty's own way thin, by Jasus!” answered Dan; “an' I'd jist loike to see the man 'ud say, she didn't fairly worship the very futsteps of 'im.”
When Deacon Little heard Hetty Gunn's voice at his door that night, the old man sprang to his feet as he had not sprung for twenty years.
“Bless my soul!” he exclaimed, “what can have brought Hetty Gunn here to-night?” and he met her in the hall with outstretched hands.
“Hetty, my dear, what is it?” he exclaimed, in a tone of anxiety. “Oh!” said Hetty, earnestly. “I have frightened you, haven't I? was it wrong for me to come to-night? There are so many things I want to talk over with you. I want to get settled; and all the work on the farm is belated: and I can't have the place run behindhand; that would worry father so.”
The tears stood in her eyes, but she spoke in as matter-of-course a tone as if she had simply come as her father's messenger to ask advice. The old deacon pushed his spectacles high upon his forehead, and, throwing his head back, looked at Hetty a moment, scrutinizingly, in silence. Then, he said, half to himself, half to her,—
“You're your grandfather all over, Hetty. Now let me know what I can help you about. You can always come to me, as long as I 'm alive, Hetty. You know that.”
“Yes,” said Hetty, walking back and forth in the little room, rapidly. “You are the only person I shall ever ask any thing of in that way.”
“Sit down, Hetty, sit down,” said the old man. “You must be all worn out.”