"What, dear mother?"
"Why when I asked why you didn't get Mr. Linden to help you. How you do write, child!"—which remark was meant admiringly.
"Mother!"—said Faith. "But it can be done"—she added with quiet resolution.
"I'm sure it never could by me, in that style," said Mrs. Derrick,—"my fingers always think they are ironing or making piecrust. But child, here's Dr. Harrison—come for nobody knows what, except that Sophy took it into her head to send her heart by him—as near as I can make out. And he wants you to go to Deep River to-morrow. I said you wouldn't—and then I thought maybe you'd better speak yourself. But if you don't like to, you sha'n't. I can deal with him."
"I don't want to see Dr. Harrison, mother!—To-morrow?" said Faith.
"Yes—I will see him."
She rose up, laid her pen delicately out of her fingers, went down stairs and into the sitting-room, where she confronted the doctor.
Faith was dressed as she had been at the party, with the single exception of the blue ribband instead of the red oak leaves; and the excitement of what she had been about was stirring both cheek and eye. Perhaps some other stir was there too, for the flush was a little deeper than it had been upstairs, but she met the doctor very quietly. He thought to himself the lanterns had lent nothing with their illumination the other night.
"No, sir," she said as he offered her a chair,—"I have something to do;—but mother said—"
"Will the bird perch for no longer than this?" said the doctor, turning with humourous appeal to Mrs. Derrick who had followed her.
"My birds do pretty much as they like, Dr. Harrison," said Mrs. Derrick
"They always did, even when I had 'em in cages."