"I hope you don't mean to say you saw anything that was on the table the day you were married, Mr. Somers!" said Mrs. Stoutenburgh irreverently.
"Let's hear what you mean by well done,—let's hear, Mr. Somers," said the Squire.
"He means securely," said Mrs. Somers.
"I feel sure," said Mr. Somers with exquisite significancy, "I feel sure that part of my audience were at no loss for the meaning of my words. Experience, somebody says, is the best commentary—hey, Mr. Linden? is it not so?"—"What, sir?"
Mr. Somers laughed, gently. "I see you coincide with me in opinion, sir."
"I coincide with him in the opinion that it was well done to ring the bells," said Mrs. Stoutenburgh. "Reuben, I guess that was your doing."
"Never mind whose it was," said the Squire, "the bells were never put to a better use, week days, I'll venture. Mr. Linden, won't that lady by you let me give her another piece of chicken?"—"No, sir," came in a low voice that had a private chime of its own.
"Little bird," said Mr. Linden, softly, "do you know that all your compeers live by eating?"—"Crumbs" said Faith with equal softness.
"But of proportionate size!"—"Yes," said Faith.
"You know," he said in the same low voice, "to go back to our old maxim those bells may stand for the music, and we have certainly spoken a few sensible words; but if you do not look up how will you find the picture?"—She raised her eyes, but it was for a swift full glance up into his face; she looked nowhere else, and her eyes went back to her plate again. The involuntary, unconscious significance of the action made Mr. Linden smile.