Wilson's farm was. The waiter, a female, did not
know, but would inquire. Meantime David asked for two sheets of paper,
and wrote a few lines on each; then folded them both (in those days
envelopes were not), but did not seal them. Mrs. Wilson's farm turned
out to be only two miles from Harrowden, and the road easy to find. He
was soon there; gave his horse to one of the farm-boys, and went into
the kitchen and asked if Miss Fountain lived there. This question
threw him into the hands of Jenny, who invited him to follow her, and,
unlike your powdered and noiseless lackey, pounded the door with her
fist, kicked it open with her foot, and announced him with that
thunderbolt of language which fell so inopportunely on Lucy's
self-congratulations.
The look Mrs. Wilson cast on Lucy was droll enough; but when David's
square shoulders and handsome face filled up the doorway, a second
look followed that spoke folios.
Lucy rose, and with heightened color, but admirable self-possession,
welcomed David like a valued friend.
Mrs. Wilson's greeting was broad and hearty; and, very soon after she
had made him sit down, she bounced up, crying: "You will stay dinner
now you be come, and I must see as they don't starve you." So saying,
out she went; but, looking back at the door, was transfixed by an
arrow of reproach from her nursling's eye.
Lucy's reception of David, kind as it was, was not encouraging to one
coming on David's errand, for there was the wrong shade of amity in
it.
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