"Faith," he said, "that is not the worst token, nor the worst envoy—that might be. What a shy child you were that first time I took you down there! And you have not changed any too much," he added, carrying her off to the other room. "I am not sure that you ought to be indulged—suppose you open this box."
"You do it, please, Endecott!"—she said with a crimson rush to her cheeks.
"I do not believe there is any explosive material under such an address,—however, if there is I prefer that my hands should fire the train. Stand back, Faith!"—and with cautious and laughing deliberation the key was turned and the lid raised. It was a very plain lid, by the way—mere white pine.
"There is nothing here (that appears) but silk paper and cotton,—not gun cotton, probably," said Mr. Linden. "Faith, do you wish me to risk my safety any further?"
"Yes."—
"My dear, you must have more courage. If I am to open all your boxes I shall have my hands full, and—ne vous en déplaise—I would rather see the work in yours." And she was seated before the portentous pine box, Mr. Linden keeping his stand at her side. Faith blushed and didn't like it; but applied her fingers with a sort of fearful delicacy to the silk paper and cotton, removing one after the other.
The box had interior divisions, by way of help to the silk paper, its different contents being thus more securely separated. Faith's fingers exploring among the papers brought out first a silver chocolate pot, then the dainty china cups for the same, then the spoons, in size and shape just suiting the cups. Spoons and chocolatière were marked with the right initials; the cups—chocolate colour themselves, that no drop of the dark beverage might hurt their beauty—had each a delicate gilt F. L. twining about the handle.
If the givers could have seen the gift uncovered and inspected!—the rosy delight in Faith's cheeks, the pleasure in her eye! They would have considered themselves rewarded. She looked and bent over the pretty things, her attitude and blush half veiling her admiration and satisfaction, but there was no veiling them when she looked up at Mr. Linden. "I am so glad you like chocolate!"—she said naively. But it was worth a hundred remarks of aesthetic criticism.
"I am so glad I do!" he said, stooping to kiss her. "Faith, one would almost imagine some bird of the air had told them our chocolate associations."
"Now won't you put these back for me?" said Faith,—"because, if that sponge cake is to get done to-day I haven't two minutes to lose!"