“Then come in, child, come in,” said David joyfully, pushing back his chair as he rose. “I'm that glad you've come back, you can't think!” “But I haven't come back—that's just it,” answered the defiant voice out of the night. “Then I'm going to fetch you back, Missy. I'm going——” “You stop in that verandah. If you come out I'll take to my heels and you'll never see me again—never! Now look here, Mr. Teesdale, haven't I sickened you this time?” “Done what, Missy?” asked David, uneasily, from the verandah. He could see her outline now. “Sickened you. I should have thought I'd sickened you just about enough this trip, if you'd asked me. I should have said I'd choked you off for good and all.” “You know you've done no such thing, Missy. What nonsense the child will talk!” “What! I didn't sicken you this afternoon?” “No.” “Didn't disgust you, if you like that better?” “No.” “Didn't make you perspire, the whole lot of you?” “Of course you didn't, Missy. How you talk! You amused us a good deal, and you surprised us, too, a bit; but that was all.” “Oh! So that was all, was it? So I only surprised you a bit? I suppose you don't happen to know whether it was a big bit, eh?” But David now decided that the time was come for firmness. “Listen to me, Missy; I'm not going to have any more to say to you unless you come inside at once!” “But what if I'm not never coming inside—never no more?” There was that within the words which made David pause to consider. At length he said: “Very well, then, come into the verandah and we'll have a sensible talk here, and I won't force you into the house; though where else you're to go I don't quite see. However, come here, and I won't insist on your coming a step further.” “Honour bright?” “Of course.” “Hope to die?” “I don't understand you, Missy; but I meant what I said.” “Then I'm coming. One moment, though! Is anybody about? Is Mrs. Teesdale in the house?” “No, she's gone to chapel. So has Arabella, and John William's milking. They'll none of 'em be back just yet. Ah, that's better, my dear girl, that's better!” Missy was back in her old wooden chair. Mr. Teesdale sat down again in its fellow and put his hand affectionately upon the girl's shoulder. “So you mean to tell me your hairs didn't stand on end!” said Missy, in a little whisper that was as unnecessary as it was fascinating just then. “I haven't got much to boast of,” answered the old man cheerily; “but what hair I have didn't do any such thing, Missy.” “Now just you think what you're saying,” pursued the girl, with an air as of counsel cautioning a witness. “You tell me I neither sickened you, nor disgusted you, nor choked you off for good and all with that song and dance I gave you this afternoon. Your hairs didn't stand on end, and I didn't even make you perspire—so you say! But do you really mean me to believe you?” “Why, bless the child! To be sure—to be sure!”