Faith blushed a good deal, however the answer came steadily. "I don't think any drugs would do that for you."
"I am in a bad way, then," said Mr. Linden with unmoved gravity. "Because if I survive this trial of what I can bear, I intend to advertise for the afore-named situation. Have you heard of any vacant pole, Miss Faith?"
Faith looked at him with a grave, considering wonder, which gradually broke into a sense of fun; and then she laughed, as she did not often laugh.
Apparently Mr. Linden was well enough pleased with such answer to his words, for he not only made no attempt to stop her, but even remarked that it was good to be of a sympathizing disposition.
The day passed as usual; only of late it had got to be Faith's habit to spend a good deal of time shut up in her room. It had never been her habit before. But now, after going through her early household duties, of which Faith had plenty, she used to be out of sight often for an hour before dinner; unless when the dinner required just that hour of her attention. Nothing was left behind her to call her down. Her dairy, her bread and cake, her pies and cream-cheeses, her dinner preparations—whatever the things might be—were all ready for the day's wants; and then Faith was gone. After dinner it was still more surely the same. Yet though all this was true, it was so quietly and unobtrusively true that Mrs. Derrick had hardly observed it.
It happened this afternoon that Faith lingered upstairs,—not until teatime, but until she heard her mother call. Reuben Taylor wanted to see her. He was at the gate.
"I didn't want to disturb you, Miss Faith. I told Mrs. Derrick so. It's only some clams,—which I thought maybe you'd like," said Reuben modestly. "I left 'em in the kitchen."
"Thank you, Reuben—I like them very much. Do you feel better than you did yesterday?"
"Yes, ma'am—" said Reuben rather slowly,—"I felt a great deal better last night."
"And to-day—don't you?"