Faith folded her hands and sat waiting to be useful.
Perhaps Mr. Linden thought it would be a comfort to her if he at least partly granted her request, perhaps he thought it would be wise; for he said, laying his cheek against the child's,—
"Johnny, if you will sit with Miss Faith now, I will lay my head down on one of your pillows for a little while, and you can call me the minute you want me."
The child was very quiet and resting then, and leaning his head happily against Faith, watched Mr. Linden as he sat down by the bedside and gave himself a sort of rest in the way he had proposed; and then Faith's gentle voice was put in requisition. It was going over some things Johnny liked to hear, very softly so that no ears but his might be the wiser,—when the door opened and Jonathan Fax came in again. He glanced at Mr. Linden, and advanced softly up to Faith. There stood and looked down at his child and her with a curious look—that half recognized what it would not see.
"You're as good to him as if he belonged to ye!—" said Jonathan, in a voice not clear.
"So he does—" was Faith's answer, laying her cheek to the little boy's head. "By how many ties," she thought; but she added no more. The words had shaken her.
"How's he gettin' on?" was the uneasy question next, as the father stooped with his hands on his knees to look nearer at the child.
Did he not know? Faith for a minute held her breath. Then she lifted her face and looked up—looked full into his eyes.
"Don't you know, Mr. Fax, that Johnny cannot go any way but well?"
The words were soft and low, but the man stood up, straightening himself instantly as if he had received a blow.