"Did you think I was in earnest, dear Faith, when I asked about your sympathy?" Mr. Linden said, drawing her closer.
"No.—I think I have the sympathy, but I don't so well know how to shew it. Then loaves of bread, I suppose, wouldn't come amiss?—And above all, meat. Where else do you think a roast turkey ought to go?"
"To one particular far-off house on the shore that is brim full of little children—and nothing else!"
"We'll take them a big one," said Faith smiling,—"and I suppose it is no matter how many cakes! You'll have to make a very particular list, with some notion of what would be best at each place; because in some houses they wouldn't bear what in others they would be very glad of. Wouldn't that be good? So that we might be sure to have the right thing everywhere—one right thing, at any rate. The other things might take their chance."
"Yes, I will do that. But you know the first thing is, that you should get well, and the next that you should not get tired,—and these must be secured, if nobody ever has anything."
Faith's laugh was joyous.
"To-morrow I mean to make cakes and pies," she said,—"and the next day I will bake bread and roast turkeys and boil beef! And you have no idea what a quantity of each will be wanted! I think I never saw anybody so good at talking people to sleep!—that didn't want to go. Now what is that?" For the knocker of the front door sounded loudly again.
"It is something to send people away—that don't want to go!" Mr. Linden said, as he put her back in her old position on the cushions, and moved his chair to a respectful distance therefrom. But nothing worse came in this time than a note, well enveloped and sealed, which was for Mr. Linden. It ran after this fashion.—
"In the snow—yet and the chair not only set for Ennui, but ennui in the chair!
"This 28th Dec. 18