Subjects started of themselves—in numbers somewhat like the little butterflies that roused out of the clover as the intruding feet came by,—about as airy, about as flitting, not quite so purposeless. And thus in a way more summery than summary, Mr. Linden and Faith arrived at the shore. He found a shady seat for her, and with no "by your leave," except in manner, transferred her bonnet to an airy situation on a wild thorn.
"Mignonette, do you know what I mean to do with you after Thursday?"
"No, Endecott."—
"I shall put you before me on the wooden horse spoken of in the fairy tale, turn the pin under his right ear, and be off."
"What's that story!"—said Faith, looking round at him (he was standing behind her) with the prettiest of bright flushed faces.
"An authentic account of how a prince carried off a princess."
"How did he?"
"Got her consent first—(couldn't get anybody's else, but that did not matter)—ordered some one to bring the wooden horse to the front of the palace, placed her and himself as aforesaid, turned the pin, and disappeared from the curious eyes of the whole court. The story goes on to state that they both enjoyed the ride."
"Was that what you meant when you asked me if I liked travelling in cars?—" said Faith, a very little laugh speaking her sense of the application.
"Quick witted little princess!" said Mr. Linden. "The horse that refuses to carry double for your service, shall be dismissed from mine."