"Dr. Harrison, how do _you_ do!" said a voice that sounded like--perhaps as much like the bark of a red squirrel as anything; and a little figure, with everything faded but her ribbands, and everything full but her cheeks, looked up with a pair of good, kind, honest eyes into the doctor's face. "It makes a body feel young--or old--I don't know which, to see you again," she said. "Though indeed I know just how old you are, without looking into the Bible. Not but that's a good place to look, for various things. And there's a great variety of things there,--if a body had time to read 'em all, which I haven't. I used to read like a scribe when I was young--till my eyes got bad; but a body can't do much without eyes, especially when they have to sew all the time, as I do. I always did think it was one indemnification for being a man, that a body wouldn't have to sew. Nor do much of anything else--for 'man works from sun to sun, but a woman's work is never done.' And I always think the work after sundown comes hardest--it does to me, because my eyes are so bad.--Well, Miss Cilly! don't your dress fit!"--It may be proper to mention that this last sentence was a little undertone. "You have given me, Miss Bezac," said the doctor, "what I have wanted all my life until now--an indemnification for being a man!" "Is that the way they talk over in France?" said Miss Bezac--"well, it don't make a body want to go there, there's that about it. And there always is something about everything. And I've something to say to you, Faith, so don't you run away. You've done running enough for one day, besides." Faith was in no danger of running away. For while Miss Bezac was running off her sentences, a little low voice at Faith's side said "Ma'am!"--by way of modestly drawing her attention to Johnny Fax and his red ribband. Faith stooped down to be nearer the level of the red ribband. "You did bravely, Johnny. And you got a book too. I guess Mr. Linden was pleased with you to-night," she added softly. "O he's always pleased with me," said Johnny simply. "But I wasn't brave, ma'am,--I was frightened." Then in a lower tone, as if he were telling a great secret, Johnny added, "I'm coming to you next Sunday if it's cold weather"--and looked up in her face to see the effect of this mysterious announcement. "You, Johnny!" said Faith, with a flash of remembrance of the time she had last seen him, which made her almost sorrowful. "Well, dear--we'll do the best we can," she added in a tone which was sweet at least as tenderness could make it. The child looked at her a little wistfully. "Mr. Linden says he don't think I'm big enough to keep warm out of doors any more," he said with childish inexplicitness. "I don't think you are," said Faith. "Well, Johnny--you come to me next Sunday, and we'll try!"--And she gave him, what Sam Stoutenburgh would probably have mortgaged his life for,--a soft touch of her lips upon his cheek. And Sam Stoutenburgh was not far off.