"I would rather have that at a venture, if I were the sick one," said Mr. Linden. "But the specific most prized by that class of the population who have 'fever nagur', is called in their vernacular 'Queen Anne'—anglice, quinine. Faith, you have no idea how those buttercups are beautified!"
"Flowers always are, that you handle," said Faith.
"You see how appropriate they are to my Sunbeam—for
'The buttercup catches the sun in his chalice'."
"What is a chalice?"
"A sort of cup—a church service cup, generally. Did you admire so much the head of clover I gave you once down at the shore?"
Faith gave him a curious glance of recollection; but though there was a half smile on her face too, she remained silent.
"Well, little bird?" he said smiling. "Of what is that look compounded?"
"Various things, I suppose. Let me have your cup, Endecott?"
"Do you know," he said, "that for a scholar, you are—remarkably—unready to answer questions?"