"Can you catch this?" he said, looking up at her with laughing eyes.

And the soft cowslip ball came whirling up to bury its golden head in her hands. If Faith saw anything else, it was the very evident astonishment of one of the standers-by. But nevertheless she bravely put her bright blushing face out again.

"Thank you, Mr. Linden," she said. "It's too pretty to be thrown more than once."

"Are you ready to come yourself?"

"Yes, I'm coming."

He bowed and turned away, pa.s.sing on into the house with so quick a step that he was at the head of the stairs as soon as she was.

"You are not going to carry me down to-day!"--said Faith starting back.

"I can walk down as well as you can--or at least I can as well walk down."

"There is no one in the parlour, Mignonette."

"Then I'll not go there," said Faith smiling.

"I'll take you to the garden, if you prefer it. Is the supposed fact of your being able to walk down stairs any reason why you should not bid me good morning?"

There was neither that nor any other existing reason, to judge by the quiet grace with which Faith drew near to give the required good morning, or rather to permit Mr. Linden to take it; and then placed her hand in his, as willing to have so much aid from him as that could give. He held it fast, and her too, for a minute, while his other hand busied itself with fastening in her belt a dewy, sweet, sonsie looking little sprig of May roses.

"How do you feel this morning?" he said when he was gravely considering the effect.

"Very much like Spring!"--Faith looked so, with her other hand full of primroses.

"And otherwise?"

"I don't feel otherwise!" said Faith laughing; the first really free merry look of laughter he had seen on her face since he came home.

"You are the sweetest of all spring blossoms," Mr. Linden said, carrying her off with perfect disregard of the supposed fact of her being able to walk. At the foot of the stairs, however, she was permitted to find her feet again. "Where will you go, dear child?--the orchard is very wet, but you may venture as far as the door."

"No, I have something to do," said Faith.

"What have you to do?"

"What I used to take care of--part of it. I'm so glad to do it again."

"Not to-day--you ought not!--nor to-morrow. You must come in here and sit quiet till breakfast, and for a few days more be content to be 'Love in idleness' as well as Mignonette. Will you promise?" he said, seating her in the easy-chair, with open window, and breakfast table, and a gay little fire to make the captivity pleasant.

"But I like work, Endy--and a little won't hurt me. Those boys want you--and I'll make the coffee."

"Do you know, Mignonette, how pale you would be if I were away?"

She shook her head.

"I do," said Mr. Linden,--"and as I am in a mood for roses this morning, I want you to let me bring 'those boys' in here--then they can see me and I can see you."

The roses came, started and brightened, and her eyes looked a soft protest; but it was a minority protest and gave way, and her face after all told him he might do what he liked. He gave her a rea.s.suring smile, and went back to the orchard, presently returning with Reuben and Sam,--the one wearing a face of unqualified pleasure, the other of almost as unqualified shyness. Sam was not quite sure that his ears had reported correctly, but the doubt and the new idea were enough to discompose him thoroughly. He listened eagerly to the answers Reuben's words called forth, but seemed afraid to venture many himself. As for Mr. Linden, he was combining another handful of flowers--covering his amus.e.m.e.nt with very grave composure.

It was not bad amus.e.m.e.nt; for the exquisite simplicity in Faith's manner, with the contrast of the coming and going colour and the shy eyelashes, made a picture that any one claiming interest in it would have been a little proud of. And the roses in her belt and the cowslips in her hand and the delicate lines of her face which health had not yet rounded out again, all joined to make the vision a very fair one. She was most shy of Sam, and did not look at Mr. Linden.

"I haven't thanked you for your pigeons, Sam," she said, after a few lively words with Reuben.

"No, Miss Faith, please don't!" was the gallant rejoinder.

"Weren't they worth thanks?" inquired Mr. Linden.

"I thought they were, when I was eating them; and mother said they were the best I had. Don't you like to be thanked, Sam?"

"When it's worth while," said Sam. "But you know, ma'am--You know, Mr.

Linden, it's thanks enough to do anything for Miss Faith."

"I know that very well." Quiet as the words were they brought all Sam's ideas to the ground like his own pigeons.

"Where are you now in college, Sam?" Faith went on perhaps because she felt herself a coward.

Sam made answer, in a more subdued state of mind than was usual when he announced his Soph.o.m.orical distinctions.

"What are you going to do when you come out?"

"O I don't know, Miss Faith,--father says I can do just what I like."

"And you don't know what that will be, Sam?"

"No--" said Sam. "I can't even guess."

"A man who can do what he likes ought to do a great deal," said Mr.

Linden. "Reuben, will you take the upper road home, and give these flowers to Ency Stephens for Miss Faith?"

"O yes, sir!" Reuben said.

"No, Reuben! I didn't send them," said Faith eagerly.

"Tell her," said Mr. Linden smiling, "that they came from Miss Faith's garden, and that I shall bring Miss Faith herself to see her, just so soon as she can bear such a long drive." The bunch of flowers was laid lightly on her hands for her disposal. "Now I must send you two collegians--present and future--away, for you have had your breakfast and we have not had ours."

At which remark Sam took Faith's hand with a bow of great perplexity and reverence, and Reuben drew near and waited for the flowers.

"Give them to her from Mr. Linden," said Faith, rosy red, as she put them in his keeping;--"she will like that best, Reuben."

Reuben thought he knew how to combine the two messages, and the boys went off just as the coffee-pot came in.

"Faith," said Mr. Linden coming back to sit down by her, "here is a rosebud so much like you that I think I ought to wear it. What do you consider the most appropriate way?"

"How do gentlemen wear flowers?--You'll have to stick it in a b.u.t.tonhole," said Faith half grave and half laughing,--"if it must be worn."

"But that is to treat it as a common flower!"

"You'll have to treat it so," said Faith glancing from the rosebud to him.