"Yes I must be there for awhile."
Faith moved away, remarking in a different tone, "Your supper basket is at home, sir!"—and busied her energies about serving him as she had just served Johnny. With something more substantial however. Faith had brought a lunch basket, and in five minutes had made Mr. Linden a cup of home tea.
"Now how shall we manage?" she said;—"for Johnny must have you every minute while you are here—and there is no such thing as a little table. I shall have to be table and dumb waiter for you—if you won't mind."
And so Faith pulled up her chair again and sat down, with the basket open on her lap and Mr. Linden's cup in her hand.
"I only hope," she said, "that Dr. Harrison will not choose this particular minute to come in! If he does, catch the cup of tea, Endecott!—for I won't answer for anything."
"I don't know whether I should be most sorry or proud, in case of such event," said Mr. Linden,—"however, I do not wish the doctor anything so disagreeable. But I will promise to catch the cup of tea—and everything else, down to his displeasure. Only you must not be a dumb waiter; for that will not suit me at all."
It was one of those pretty bits of sunshine that sometimes shew themselves in the midst of a very unpromising day, the time when they sat there with the lunch basket between them. The refreshment of talk and of lunch (for lunch is refreshing when it is needed) brightened both faces and voices; and Mr. Linden's little charge, in one of his turns of happy rest and ease, watched them—amused and interested—till he fell asleep. By that time Mr. Linden's spare minutes were about over. As he was laying Johnny gently down on the bed, Faith seized her chance.
"You'll let me stay here to-night—won't you, Endecott?"
"It would not be good for you, dear child,—if you stay until night it will be quite as much as you ought to do. But I will see you again by that time."
"I am strong, Endecott."