“Letters?” asked Zelda, without turning round.
“No,” said Olive. “It was a caller.”
“Well, you got rid of her pretty quickly, I must say.”
“It wasn’t her; it was a him,” said Olive, inspecting Zelda’s work.
“Why didn’t you bring him in?” asked Zelda.
“I didn’t think he would be any help about the pie, so I sent him off.”
“Name, please?” and Zelda wheeled about, holding the rolling-pin poised between her hands.
“It was Mr. Balcomb. You needn’t look at me that way. He came on an errand.”
“Did some one send him with a note; or does he deliver parcels? I should think he would make a capital boy to deliver parcels,—he’s so sudden-like!”
“I don’t think you’re fair to him,” said Olive. “He’s a poor young man who has his own way to make.”