"He's out, is he?"
"Yes," said Cindy, reducing a large family of spiders to temporary starvation and despair,—"he's out—if he ain't gone in nowheres. Miss Dilly, if you'll stand just inside the door I can wash the steps just as well.
"What's the gentleman out so early for? Maybe he's missed some of his luggage, Cindy."
"Hope he ha'n't got no more—without its lighter," said Cindy. "However, he carried it upstairs himself, I'm free to confess. I guess 'twarn't for luggage he went out, 'cause he asked about breakfast time, special."
"If he means to be out till then he'll have a good walk of it."
It wanted five minutes of breakfast time, and Mrs. Derrick—what with stepping into the kitchen to oversee Cindy, and stepping to the front window to oversee the street—was warm enough for a cooler morning.
"Faith," she said, referring as usual to her daughter, "Faith—what shall we do if he don't come?"
"I guess he'll come, mother;—he knows the time. The things won't hurt much by waiting a little."
As she spoke, the little front gate swung softly to, and the person in question came leisurely up the steps and into the hall. Then having just glanced into the parlour, he at once—with a promptitude which bespoke him too punctual himself to doubt the punctuality of others—advanced to the dining-room door and walked in.
Mrs. Derrick's face shewed gratification mingled with her good nature.
Faith smiled; and Miss Dilly was duly introduced as Miss Delia
Danforth, Mrs. Derrick's aunt, then on a visit at Pattaquasset.