She ran down
the steps hurriedly with his name on her lips. But the figure coming
towards her through the dusk was much smaller than Austin's and a voice
answered her, in broken English, "It ain't Mr. Gray, missus. It's me."
"Why, Peter!" she said in amazement; "is anything the matter at
the farm?"
"No, missus; not vat you'd called _vrong_."
"What is it, then? Will you come up and sit down?"
He stood fumbling at his hat for a minute, and then settled himself
awkwardly on the steps at her feet. His yellow hair was sleekly
brushed, his face shone with soap and water, and he had on his best
clothes. It was quiet evident that he had come with the distinct
purpose of making a call.
"Can dose domestics hear vat ve say?" he asked at length, turning his
wide blue eyes upon her, after some minutes of heavy silence.
"Not a word."
"Vell den--you know Mr. Gray and I goin' avay to-morrow."
"Yes, Peter."
"To be gone much as a mont', Mr. Gray say."
"I believe so."
"Mrs. Cary, dear missus,--vill you look after Edit' vile I'm gone?"
"Why, yes, Peter," she said warmly, "I always see a good deal of
Edith--we're great friends, you know.
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