"Do you mean to tell me," replied Queenie, sitting down, quite pale with the surprise, "that—that—"
"Ah, I knew you would guess it!" interrupted Caleb, sagaciously. "'Find out what she requires for her visit, and get it, Runciman,' he said to me; and, as I observed once before on a similar occasion, you might have knocked me over with a feather. 'Ask some woman to help you, for we neither of us know much of a girl's farthingales and furbelows, I fancy,' he said, grimly enough; and so, my dear, I made bold, and invented that pleasing little fiction in order to get at some of your ideas."
"Mr. Calcott has given me all those things?" she repeated; and then for the moment she could say no more.
CHAPTER X.
"THE LITTLE COMFORTER."
"Thy love
Shall chant itself its own beatitudes,
After its own life wailing. A child kiss,
Set on thy sighing lips, shall make thee glad;
A poor man, served by thee, shall make thee rich;
A rich man, helped by thee, shall make thee strong.
Thou shalt be served thyself by every sense
Of service which thou renderest."—E. B. Browning.
On her next visit, which was to be her last before they started for Hepshaw, Mr. Calcott received Queenie with more than his usual acrimony.
"In my time punctuality used to be considered a virtue," he said, severely, with an ominous glance at the time-piece, which showed Queenie she was some minutes late. "Never mind; I dare say this is the last time you will have to amuse a troublesome old man."
Queenie's eyes filled with tears.
"Please don't talk so, Mr. Calcott; not to-night, at least, when I have to bid you good-bye for so many weeks."