t another ten minutes was following
in train--when at length the parlour door opened again and Faith stood
there, with a white apron on and cheeks a good deal heightened in
colour since the date of their last appearance.

"Mother, tea's ready. Cindy hasn't got back." And having made this
gentle announcement, Faith disappeared again, leaving it to her mother
to shew the way to the supper-room.

This was back of the parlour and communicated with the kitchen, from
which Faith came in as they entered, bearing a plate of white biscuits,
smoking hot, in her hand. The floor was painted with thick yellow
paint, smooth and shining; plenty of windows let in plenty of light and
the sweet evening air; the table stood covered with a clean brownish
table-cloth,--but what a supper covered that! Rosy slices of boiled
ham, snowy rounds of 'milk emptyings', bread, strawberries,
pot-cheeses, pickles, fried potatoes, and Faith's white cakes, with tea
and coffee!

Now as Faith had laid the clean napkin for the stranger at the foot of
the table, opposite her mother, it cannot be thought presumption in him
that he at once took his seat there; thus relieving Mrs. Derrick's mind
of an immense responsibility. Yet something in his manner then made her
pause and look at him, though she did not expect to see him bow his
head and ask for a blessing on the meal before them. If that was
presumption, neither of his hearers felt it so,--the little flush on
the mother's cheek told rather of emotion, of some old memory now
quickened into life. Her voice even trembled a little as she said,--

"Will you have tea or coffee, sir?"

And Faith offered her biscuit.

"Or there's bread, if you like it better, sir."

"The biscuits are best," said her mother,--"Faith's biscuits are always
good."

And he took a biscuit, while a very slight unbending of the lines of
his face said that the excellence of Faith's handiwork was at least not
always so apparent.

"Miss Faith, what shall I give you in return that is beyond your reach
and (comparatively) within mine?"

Possibly--possibly, the slight grave opening of two rather dark eyes
confessed that in her apprehension the store thus designated, from
which he might give her, was very large indeed. But if that was so, her
lips came short of the truth, for she answered,--

"I don't want anything, thank you."

"Not even butter?"--with his hand on the knife.

Faith seemed inclined not to want butter, but finall