"And that you were the only person he knew who would go through fire and water for him?" said Mr. Linden.
"No, sir, but—I suppose I've got to say it, since he told me to,—Dr. Harrison said, Miss Faith, that—" the message seemed to stir both Reuben's shame and laughter—"that he had begged a cake of his sister, to go with your Thanksgiving pies—and that it was in the basket. And that I needn't tell anybody else about it."
"Reuben," said Mr. Linden laughing, "you needn't tell him that I shall eat half the cake."
"No, sir"—Reuben said,—and tried not to laugh, and couldn't help it.
The third member of the trio shewed no disposition at all to much laughter. She had put the basket down on the table and looked at it from a distance, as if it had contained the four and twenty live blackbirds—or a small powder magazine. The effect of his message Reuben did not stay to see. He went round to Mr. Linden to ask if the morning orders were unchanged, clasped hands with him—then bowed low to Faith and went out.
With very demure face Mr. Linden seated himself in one of the easy-chairs, and looked towards the table, with the air of one who expects—something! And not demurely but with grave consciousness, Faith stood looking in the same direction; then her eyes went to Mr. Linden. But his face did not relax in the least.
"Do you suppose that basket holds a kitten?" he said contemplatively.
Faith did not answer but walked over to the table and began the work of investigation. Mr. Linden came too. "If you are to make feline discoveries, I must stand by you, little bird," he said.
The basket was carefully tied with a network of strings over the top; then followed one paper after another, a silk paper at last,—and the cake was revealed. The low exclamation that burst from Faith might be characterized as one of mingled admiration and dismay.
Certainly Dr. Harrison had amused himself that Thanksgiving day! perhaps in terror of his old enemy, ennui. At least his basket looked so.