"Stoop your high head, then, Endy!"—she said;—and she gave him two kisses, as full and earnest as they were soft. There was no doubt Faith had proved her position!
"Faith, darling," he said, "have you been growing thin?—or is it only that I have had to do with such substantial humanity of late. Look up here and let me see—are you anything but the essence of Mignonette?"
The face she shewed was aptly named; about as pure as that. With grave, loving intentness—not the less grave for its little companion smile—Mr. Linden studied her face for a minute,—pushing back her hair.
"Do you think,"—she said then in a light soft tone—a departure from the last words,—"do you think you won't want the essence of something else by and by, Endecott?"
"No,"—decidedly,—"I want nothing but you—so you may as well make up your mind to want nothing but me."
"Do you know what that would end in?"
"Not necessarily in such a simple duet," said Mr. Linden smiling,—"people do not always realize their ideal. Mignonette, you are just as lovely as you can be!—and you need not bring Miss Reason to keep me in order. I suppose if she were in the house it would end in her wanting her breakfast."
"I don't like Miss Keason," said Faith, "and the only thing I am thinking of putting in order is the kitchen fire. Would you like to go there with me? Nobody's in the house—Cindy went yesterday to a wedding, and Mr. Skip is gone home to keep Thanksgiving."
"That is the best thing I ever heard of Cindy," said Mr. Linden. "Of course I will go!—and play Ferdinand again Faith, would the doctor call me an 'acid'—come to dissolve all his crystals?"
"Dr. Harrison gave me ten dollars yesterday for the poor people," said Faith as she led the way to the kitchen. Arrived there, she placed a chair for Mr. Linden and requested him to be seated; while she examined into the state of the fire. The chair was disregarded—the fire received double attention.