"A sure sign that nobody will ever trouble you in that way," Faith said somewhat severely But the Squire was obtuse.
"Well I guess likely," he said, "and it's just as good they don't. I shouldn't care about living so fur from any body I was much tied up in—or tied up to, neither. I can't guess, for one, how you make out to be contented here, Mr. Linden."
"How do you know that I do, sir?"
There was a little pause at that—it was a puzzling question to answer; not to speak of a slight warning which the Squire received from his instinct. But the pause was pleasantly ended.
"Faith!" said a gentle voice in the passage—"open the door, child—I've got both hands full."
Which call Mr. Linden appropriated to himself, and not only opened the door but brought in the great dish of smoking chestnuts. Faith ran away to get plates for the party, with one of which in defiance of etiquette she served first Mr. Linden; then handed another to the Squire.
"I hope they are boiled right, Mr. Linden. Have you seen any chestnuts yet this year, Mr. Deacon?"
"I've seen some—but they warn't good for nothing," said the Squire rather sourly. "Thank you, Miss Faith, for your plate, but I guess I'll go."
"Why stay and eat some chestnuts, Squire Deacon!" said Mrs. Derrick.
"Those are Neanticut chestnuts—firstrate too."
"I don't like Neanticut chestnuts—" said Squire Deacon rising—"never did,—they're sure to be wormy. Good night, Miss Faith—good night, Mr. Linden. Mrs. Derrick, this room's hot enough to roast eggs."