"You don't care about knowing, after all?" said Mr. Linden. "Well,—Faith, do you expect ever to make such things in my house?—because if you do, I think it will ensure my coming down stairs before breakfast."
How she flushed—over cheek and brow,—then remarked gravely that, "she was glad he liked it."
"Yes, and you have no idea what effects my liking will produce!" said Mr. Linden. "You see, Faith, it may happen to us now and then to be left without other hands than our own in the house (there is no reliance whatever to be placed upon cottages!) and then you will come down, as now, and I shall come too—taking the precaution to bring a book, that nobody may suspect what I come for. Then enter one of my parishioners—Faith, are you attending?"
Faith had stopped, and poising her rolling pin the reverse way on the board—that is, on end,—had leaned her arms upon it,—giving up shortcakes entirely for the time being.
"You will not be in that position," said Mr. Linden, "but going on properly with your cakes—as you should be now. Then enter one of my parishioners who lives six miles off, to ask me to come over to his house and instruct him in the best way of hanging his gate,—which I of course promise to do, notwithstanding your protestations that I know nothing of that—nor of anything else. Parishioner goes away and reports. One part of the people say how economical we are!—to make one fire do our cooking and studying. Another part have their suspicions that you keep me at hand to lift off the teakettle (much strengthened by report of your protest.) And the charitable part at once propose to raise my salary—so that we may have as many fires as we like. Faith—what should we do in the circumstances?"
Faith was biting her lips and rolling out cakes with the swiftest activity, not allowing Mr. Linden a sight of her face.
"If you hung the gate, I should think you would take the money"—she answered demurely.
"I said you would say I could not do it!" said Mr. Linden. "Which being duly reported and considered by certain other people, will cause them to shake their heads, and wish in half audible (but most telegraphic!) whispers, 'that Mr. Linden were half as smart as his wife'!"
Faith stopped again. "Oh Endy!"—she exclaimed between laughing and pleading.
"Que voulez-vous, Mademoiselle?"