"Moon sets close on to nine, and its lighter afore that."
"Where is the place?" said Faith, now very serious indeed; "and what do you want the minister for?"—"I don't want him, bless you!" said the man. "If I did, I shouldn't be standin' here. It's an old soul up our way. He's got to go up to the bridge and over the bridge and 'tother side of the bridge, and so on till he comes to it. And the bridge is slippy." With which summing up, the man turned to the door, rattling the latch in a sort of preparatory way, to give Faith a chance for remarks.
"But who wants him there and what for? you haven't told me."—"Why it's old Uncle Bias. Sen he's sick he's got something on his mind, never seemed to afore, and he's in a takin' to tell it. That's all." And he opened the door.
"Why won't to-morrow do as well as to-night?"—"Wal," said the man slowly, "s'pose it might. Nevertheless, to-morrow ain't worth much to him. Nobody'd give much for it."
"Why?"—"'Taint certain he'd get what he paid for."
"Is he very sick?"—"Very enough," said the man with a nod, and opening the door.
Faith sprang forward. "Stop a minute, will you, friend, and see Mr.
Linden."
"That's his name, as sure as guns," said he of the "mounting." "No, thankee, I don't care about seein' him now, next time'll do just as well, and it's time he was off."
"Then wait and show him the way, will you? how is he to find it?"—"Do tell!" said the man slowly, "if he can't find his way round in the moonlight?"—"Better than most people," said Faith; "but I think he would like to see you."
The man however chose to defer that pleasure also to "next time," and went off. Faith went to the study. Coming up behind Mr. Linden where he was sitting, and laying both hands on his shoulders, she said in a very low and significant voice, "Endy, some one wants you."