"Didn't want anything!" He sat up and brushed his cloak sleeve across his forehead.
"Mr. Simlins, I shall send you down something from home and you must eat it."
"The doctor said I was to take wine—but I haint thought of it to-day."
"Where is it?"
He nodded his head in the direction of the cupboard. Faith went rummaging, poured him out a glass and brought it.
"You see," said he after he had taken it—"I've been pretty well pulled down—I didn't know—one time—which side of the fence I was goin' over—and I didn't see the ground on the other side. I don't know why I should be ashamed to say I was afeard!"—There was a strong, stern, truth-telling about this speech that thrilled his hearer. She sat down again.
"You had best take some yourself," he said. "Do Faith!"
"No sir—I'm going. I must go," she answered rising to make ready.
It was strange how the door could have opened and she not heard it—neither she nor Mr. Simlins in fact,—perhaps because their minds were so far away. That the incoming steps were unheard was not so strange, nor new, but the first thing of which Faith was conscious was the soft touch of a hand on either side of her face—she was a prisoner. Faith's instant spring to one side brought her face to face with everybody. Mr. Simlins looked from one to the other, and his first remark was characteristically addressed to Faith.
"Why you didn't tell me that!"