“Good day,” muttered the constable, not at all satisfied with this abrupt close of the conversation, but too unready to prolong it. He went on his own way slowly, looking back often, till he saw the door open, after which he seemed better satisfied, and ambled out of sight.
“The old snuffler!” thought Tom, as be strode up to the cottage door,—“a ranter, I'll be bound, with his Lord's troubles,' and 'Lord's hands,' and 'Lord's marks.' I hope Uncle Robert hasn't many such in the parish.”
He knocked at the cottage door, and in a few seconds it opened gently, and Katie slipped out with her finger on her lips. She made a slight gesture of surprise at seeing him, and held out her hand.
“Hush!” she said, “she is asleep. You are not in a hurry?”
“No, not particularly,” he answered, abruptly; for there was something in her voice and manner which jarred with his humor.
“Hush!” she said again, “you must not speak so loud. We can sit down here, and talk quietly. I shall hear if she moves.”
So he sat down opposite to her in the little porch of the cottage. She left the door ajar, so that she might catch the least movement of her patient, and then turned to him with a bright smile, and said,—
“Well, I am so glad to see you! What good wind blows you here?”
“No particularly good wind, that I know of. Mary showed me your letter yesterday, and mother wished me to come round here on my way home; and so here I am.”
“And how did the party go off? I long to hear about it.”