Felix nodded sullenly. "Shut the door," he said to his sister, the deep gloom on his countenance contrasting with the excitement she betrayed. "There is no need to let the neighbors see us."
This time she obeyed him. Susanne too crept from her skirts, and threw herself on her knees, hiding her face on the chair. "Ay!" said Marie looking down at her with the first expression of tenderness the stranger had noted in her. "Let her weep. Let children weep. But let men work."
"We want a ladder," said the clerk in a low voice. "And the longest we have is full three feet short."
"That is just half a man," remarked he who sat on the chest.
"What do you mean?" asked Felix wonderingly.
"What I said."
"But there is nothing on which we can rest the ladder," urged the clerk.
"Then that is a whole man," quoth the stranger curtly. "Perhaps two. I told you you would have need of me." He looked from one to the other with a smile; a careless, self-contented smile.
"You are a soldier," said Marie suddenly.
"At times," he replied, shrugging his shoulders.