"Then the hay in the barn is ours?"
"Everything in the barn."
"There's a good deal in the barn," said Faith with a brightening face. "You know the season has been early, sir, and our hay-fields lie well to the sun; and a great deal of the hay is in. Mr. Deacon will want some rent for the house I suppose,—and I guess there will be hay enough to pay it, whatever it is. For I can't sell my cows!—" she added laughing a little.
Her two friends—the Squire on the floor and his wife on the sofa—looked at her and then at each other.
"My dear," the Squire began, "I want to ask you a question. And before
I do, let me tell you—which perhaps you don't know—just what right
I"—
"Oh Mr. Stoutenburgh!" cried his wife, "do please hush!—you'll say something dreadful."
"Not a bit of it—" said the Squire,—"I know what to say this time, my dear, and when to stop. I wanted to tell you, Miss Faith, that I am your regularly appointed guardian—therefore if I ask questions you will understand why." But what more on that subject the Squire might have said, and said not, was left to conjecture. Faith looked at him, wondering, colouring, doubting.
"I never heard of it before, sir," she said.
"You shouldn't say regularly, Mr. Stoutenburgh," said his wife,—"Faith will think she is to be under your control."
"I shouldn't say legally," said the Squire, "and I didn't. No she aint under my control. I only mean, Miss Faith," he said turning to her, "that I am appointed to look after your interests, till somebody who is better qualified comes to do it."