"Were you?—are you going away, Squire Deacon?"
"Why yes," said the Squire, looking down at his gun—for he had been shooting,—"I've had considerable thoughts of taking a turn down to York. Cilly says she don't think it's worth my while—but I guess she don't know much more 'n her own concerns. Pattaquasset's a good deal come round this season," he added, without specifying which way.
"Do you mean that you intend to forsake Pattaquasset entirely?" said
Faith, noticing the comfortable supply of ducks in the Squire's bag.
"Well I can't just say—I'm not free to certify," said the Squire. "I said I thought it was worth my while to go, and so I do. I should like to know from your lips, Miss Faith, whether you'll make it worth my while to come back."
Faith was very glad it was so dark.
"I don't see how I can touch the question either way, sir," she said gently and with not a little difficulty.—"Wherever you are, I hope you'll be very happy, and very good, Squire Deacon."
"I should like something a little better grown than that, ma'am," said the Squire, striking his gun on the ground. "I can't just tell whether that's wheat or oats. It's likely my meaning's plain enough."
Faith was dumb for a minute.
"I believe I understood you, sir," she said in a low voice. "I meant to answer you."
"Well what's to hinder your doing it, then?" said Squire Deacon.