"Will you?" said Faith looking very pleased. "And what is 'beleaguered,' Mr. Linden? in the meantime."
"'Beleaguered' means, to be beset with a swarm of invaders who want to come in and ought to be kept out."
"I didn't know I ought to keep them out," said Faith laughing, "or I'd have done it."
Mr. Linden shook his head doubtfully. "I saw you give way!" he said,—"I doubt whether there was even a show of resistance. Now Catherine Douglass—But I must go. No, don't tempt me with apple pie—you have no idea of the pies in that wagon. Perhaps if I get successfully through them, I'll come back and dispose of yours. What are you reading to-day?—'Le Philosophe'?"
A little soberness came over Faith's smile as she shook her head and said no.
"I can't stay to ask a question upon that—but I'll ask you two by and by to pay for it."
And he went out to that little cluster of life that hung about the great wagon, making himself at once the centre of pleasure and interest and even fun, as Faith's eye and ear now and then informed her. It was pretty, the way they closed in about him—wild and untutored as they were,—pretty to see him meet them so easily on their own ground, yet always enticing them towards something better. Mrs Derrick thought so too, for she stood in the doorway and smiled very pleasantly.
"He's a real nice man, Faith," she said. "I don't wonder the boys like him."
Faith did not wonder at it, but she did not answer, though she too stood looking.
The ladies had finished their lunch, and Mr. Linden had perhaps not finished his, for he came in again to take another cup of coffee while the boys were disposing of that very ragged piece of time which the end of a boys' feast invariably is. So much peace and quietness he gave himself, if he did not give himself a sandwich—of which I am not certain.