"Knock the house down, sir, if there's nobody there to stop 'em. Bless you, sir, all Pattaquasset 'll come to hear how Mr. Linden is, afore day. There won't one on 'em wait two minutes after he hears the tale. It's all about by this time—I made one gal mad by not tellin' her, and I guess likely she's made it up for herself and other folks by now."
CHAPTER XVIII.
Dr. Harrison did not find anybody at Mrs. Derrick's gate. The two, mother and daughter, had stood there, even after Cindy had come in with her report; unconscious, or unregardful, of the chill thick mist which enveloped everything and fell with steady heavy fall upon the bright hair of one and the smooth cap of the other. They had not spoken to each other all that while, unless an unfinished word or two of Mrs. Derrick's reached ears that did not heed them. It was Faith herself who first moved, perhaps reminded by the increasing dullness that her mother was feeling it too. She took her hand from the gate, and passing the other round Mrs. Derrick, led her into the house, and into the sitting-room and to a chair; and then went for wood and kindling and built up a fire. She went to the kitchen next. That fire was out too, and that fire also Faith rebuilt, and coaxed till a blaze was going up round the cold tea kettle. Cindy sat with her head on her arms on the kitchen table, fast asleep. Faith did not wake her. In half an hour she brought into the sitting-room a tray with tea made, and clams warmed, and all things that should accompany the one teacup and saucer, and mutely set it before her mother. She did not then ask her to eat, except by this pantomime; and she herself immediately went again to stand in the porch. But again her mother followed.
"Child," she said, "you mustn't stand here. You'll be sick next. You must come right in and drink some hot tea."
Faith's quick answer was to put her hand upon her mother's lips. Her mother went on, softly and steadily, in spite of that slight obstruction. Yet not in spite of it, for her voice was very low.
"I know who'd say you ought to—" and she paused a little, as if to let her words have their full effect. Then with a carious sort of instinct she herself hardly perceived, Mrs. Derrick added,
"Dr. Harrison'll be sure to come—and you mustn't be standing here then."
For the first time Faith's head drooped, and she turned, but it was to pass her mother and go upstairs; laying her hand for an instant as she went, with a kind of caressing touch, on her mother's arm; then she was gone.
Mrs. Derrick stood where Faith left her, the still mist before her out of doors, the still house behind her. And there she stood until her ear caught the distant smooth roll of wheels. Softly it came, nearing her every minute, till Mrs. Somers' little wagon stopped at the gate, and Dr. Harrison jumped down and came towards her. Another had seen him, for Mrs. Derrick knew that a light step had come swiftly down stairs, but whither it went she knew not. The doctor spoke cheerily.
"Nasty thick evening! My dear Mrs. Derrick, do you stand at the door to shew your hospitality in welcoming your friends, all night?"