Miss Bezac stopped short.
"Bread and milk?" she said—"is that good for you? The bread's good, I know, baked last night; and the milk always is sweet, up here with the cowslips—and most things are sweet when you're hungry. But ain't you more hungry than that?—and somebody else might be, if you ain't—and one always must think of somebody else too. But you do, I'll say that for you. And oh didn't I say long ago!—" A funny little recollective pause Miss Bezac made, her thoughts going back even to the night of the celebration. Then she ran away for the bread and milk,—then she came back and put her head in at the door.
"Faith, do you like a cup or a bowl?—I like a cup, because I always think of a cup of comfort—and I never heard of a bowl of anything. But you can have which you like."
"I like the cup too," said Faith laughing. "But even the bowl would be comfort to-day, Miss Bezac."
The cup came, and a little pitcher for replenishing, and a blue plate of very white bread and very brown bread, and one of Miss Bezac's old-fashioned silver spoons, and a little loaf of "one, two, three, four, cake", that looked as good as the bread. All of which were arranged on a round stand before Faith by Miss Bezac and Mr. Linden jointly. He brought her a footstool too, and with persuasive fingers untied and took off her bonnet—which supplementary arrangements Miss Bezac surveyed with folded hands and great admiration. Which also made the pale cheeks flush again, but that was pretty to look upon. Faith betook herself to the old-fashioned spoon and the milk, then gave Mr. Linden something to do in the shape of a piece of cake; and then resigning herself to circumstances broke brown bread into the milk and eat it with great and profitable satisfaction, leaving the conversation in the hands of the other two. The sun sank lower and lower, sending farewell beams into the valleys, and shaking out gold pieces in Miss Bezac's little brown sitting-room like the Will-o'-wisps in the "Tale of tales". Through the open door her red cow might be seen returning home by a winding and circuitous path, such as cows love, and a little sparrow hopped in and out, from the doorstep, looking for "One, two, three, four", crumbs. Faith from her seat near the fire could see it all—if her eyes chose to pass Mr. Linden,—what he saw, she found out whenever they went that way. It was not wonderful that Faith turned from the table at last with a very refreshed face.
"Miss Bezac, you have made me up," she said smiling.
"Have I?" said her little hostess,—"well that comes pretty near it. Do you know when I saw you—I mean when I saw both of you, I really thought you had come for me to make up something else? And I must say, I wish you had,—not that I haven't dresses enough, and too many—unless I had a new pair of eyes—but I always did set my heart on making that one. And I haven't set my heart upon many things for a good while, so of course I ain't used to being disappointed. You won't begin, will you, Faith?"
Faith kissed her, hastily expressing the unsentimental hope that her tea would be as good as her bread and milk; and ran out, leaving Mr. Linden to follow at his leisure. Faith was found untying Jerry.
"What do you mean?" said Mr. Linden staying her hands and lifting her in the most summary manner into the wagon. "Bread and milk is too stimulating for you, child,—we must find something less exciting. What will you see fit to do next?"
"I can untie a bridle," said Faith.