"What shall I do with him?"
"Don't you know?" said Faith demurely.
"I suppose I ought to drive him so fast that he'll keep warm," said Mr.
Linden. "What else?"
Faith's little laugh made a contrast with the rough night. "You had better let me get out to the fire," she said joy fully,—"or I sha'n't keep warm."
"You sha'n't?" he said bending down by her, as they reached the door,—"your face has no idea of being cold!—I'll take care of Jerry, child—if I don't forget him in my own pleasant thoughts."
Faith threw off her cloak and furs on the hall table where some others lay, and pulled off one glove.
"Keep them both on!" Mr. Linden said softly and smiling,—"enact Portia for once. Then if you are much urged, you can gracefully yield your own prejudices so far as to take off one."
She looked at him, then amusedly pulled on her glove again; and the door was opened for them into a region of warmth and brightness; where there were all sorts of rejoicings over them and against the cold night. Mr. Linden was by force persuaded to wait till after coffee before braving it again; and the Judge and his daughter fairly involved Faith in the meshes of their kindness. A very mouse Faith was to-night, as ever wore gloves; and with a little of a mouse's watchfulness about her, fancying cat's ears at every corner. A brown mouse too; she had worn only her finest and best stuff dress. But upon the breast of that, a bunch of snowy Laurustinus, nestling among green leaves, put forth a secret claim in a way that was very beautifying. The Judge and Miss Sophy put her in a great soft velvet chair and hovered round her, both of them conscious of her being a little more dainty than usual. Sophy thought perhaps it was the Laurustinus; her father believed it intrinsic.
The coffee came, and the doctor.
"I have something better for you than Portia to-night"—he said as he dealt out sugar,—"though not something better than muffins."