She did not hear the back door of the parsonage open and close softly. Nor did she hear the cautious footsteps in the rooms below. What aroused her from her reading was her own name, spoken at the foot of the stairs.
“Keziah! Keziah, are you there?”
She started, sprang up, and ran out into the hall, the letter still in her hand.
“Who is it?” she asked sharply. “Mr. Ellery, is that you?”
“No,” was the answer. “It's me—Nat. Are you busy, Keziah? I want to see you for a minute.”
The housekeeper hurriedly thrust the letter into her waist.
“I'll be right down, Nat,” she answered. “I'm comin'.”
He was in the sitting room when she entered. He was wearing his Sunday suit of blue and his soft felt hat was on the center table. She held out her hand and he shook it heartily.
“Well!” she observed, smiling, “I declare if I don't believe you've got the tiptoe habit. This is the second time you've sneaked into the house and scared me 'most to death. I asked you before if you wa'n't ashamed of yourself and now I ask it again.”
Before he could reply she caught a glimpse of his face.