"Squire Deacon used to tell very hard stories of him when he first came," said the lady—"and I have heard a report or two since. I do love to talk to him about it!—he always looks so grave, I think he likes it."
The laugh was mutual, whether the delight was or no.
"Who is Squire Deacon?" said the doctor. "I should like to make his acquaintance."
Faith took off her bonnet, and then pulled off her gloves, deliberately, and bestowed them on the table.
"O he's a Pattaquasseter," said Mrs. Stoutenburgh—"haven't you seen his sister? She admires you—more than I think she need," she added mischievously. "But the Squire's been away for awhile,—he just got home this afternoon."
Faith had recourse to the fire. The doctor came round, took the tongs from her and did the work; after which he took a somewhat succinct leave of the assembly.
"By the way, Linden," he said pausing by his chair a moment,—"I expect to be in Quilipeak for a few days—I am very sorry, but I must. You won't want me, I think. Limbre can do all that is necessary. I shall see you Monday or Tuesday again."
"Doctor!" said Mrs. Stoutenburgh—"I want you to take me home. Mr. Stoutenburgh always makes such a fuss if I'm out after dark and don't bring anybody home to tea, that I never dare do it."
"Will you trust yourself with me, Mrs. Stoutenburgh?" said the doctor standing in comical doubt.
"Just wait a minute," said Mrs. Stoutenburgh, as she went round with her pretty, free, womanly manner, and laid her hand on Mr. Linden's forehead and hands, just as if he had been one of her own boys. "I tell you what—I don't think you cure him up half fast enough among you. If I had him up at my house I'd take better care of him."