"Let him have his nuts, Phil," said Faith gently. "He must have them—they belong to him."
"He aint a goin' ter, though," said Davids,—"and you can't do nothin', if you air Mr. Linden's sweetheart. You air—Joe Deacon says you be. Leave hold, you!"—
Thinking Faith quelled perhaps, Phil began the struggle again fiercely, with grappling and blows. But Faith laid hold suddenly on the arm that was rising the second time, and bade the boy sternly behave himself and let the basket go. It was not immediately done. He had strength much more than hers, but something withheld him from exerting it. Nothing withheld his tongue.
"Aint you Mr. Linden's sweetheart?" he said insolently. "Joe Deacon says you be."
"No sir!" said Faith; "and you are a bad boy."
"Joe Deacon says you be!"
But Faith did not relax her hold, and spoke with a steady voice and for that time at least with a steady eye of command which was obeyed.
"Let him go!—Johnny, run off with your basket and be quiet; that's a good boy. Davids, you'll be quiet the rest of the day for your own sake."
The boys parted sullenly, Johnny to run off as she had bidden him; and Faith turned from the green bank, the nut trees, and the frolic, and laying one hand upon the cheek that faced that way, as if to hide its burning from eyes too far off to see it, she went into the house.
She put the brands together which had burnt out, and built the fire up on the strictest principles, though no fire was wanted at present; the day had mellowed into warmth. Perhaps Faith recollected that after she had got through, for she left the fire to take care of itself and sat down again on the doorstep looking towards the nut-tree field. For a good while her cheek wore its troubled flush, her hand went up to it once or twice as if to cool it off, and her brow bespoke her using other and more effectual measures. It cooled at last, into complete quietness and sweetness; and Faith's face was just like itself when the first of the party came back from the nut field.