"Why child!"—Mrs. Derrick began,—then she stopped and began again. "I guess he'd rather see you than that box, child,—if the doctor hasn't talked him to death."
"Mother, do you think he would like to have me come up and see him?"
"Like it?" said Mrs. Derrick, her mind almost refusing to consider such an absurd question. "I'm sure he likes to see you when he's well, Faith. Didn't he like it last night?"
Faith looked a little bit grave, then she hastily pushed her brown moreen and box into a somewhat more orderly state of disorganization, and went up stairs, with a quick light step that was not heard before her tap at Mr. Linden's door. And then receiving permission she went in, a little rosy this time at venturing into the charmed region when its occupant was there; and came with her step a little lighter, a little slower, up to the side of the couch and held out her hand; saying her soft "How do you do, Mr. Linden?"
He was lying just as the doctor had left him, with the unopened letters, and the white paper which Faith felt instinctively was her own exercise. But eye and hand were ready for her.
"Courageous Miss Faith!" he said with a smile. "And so, 'She's gentle and not fearful'?"
She smiled, with an eye that took wistful note of him.
"How do you feel to-day, Mr. Linden?"
"Not very well—and not worse. Miss Faith, do you know that we have a great deal to do this week? You may lock up your stocking basket."
"Please let me do something for you, Mr. Linden?" she said earnestly.