Annie Kilburn - Page 31/183

Toward five o'clock Annie was interrupted by a knock at her door, which

ought to have prepared her for something unusual, for it was Mrs. Bolton's

habit to come and go without knocking. But she called "Come in!" without

rising from her letter, and Mrs. Bolton entered with a stranger. The little

girl clung to his forefinger, pressing her head against his leg, and

glancing shyly up at Annie. She sprang up, and, "This is Mr. Peck, Miss

Kilburn," said Mrs. Bolton.

"How do you do?" said Mr. Peck, taking the hand she gave him.

He was gaunt, without being tall, and his clothes hung loosely about him,

as if he had fallen away in them since they were made. His face was almost

the face of the caricature American: deep, slightly curved vertical lines

enclosed his mouth in their parenthesis; a thin, dust-coloured beard fell

from his cheeks and chin; his upper lip was shaven. But instead of the

slight frown of challenge and self-assertion which marks this face in the

type, his large blue eyes, set near together, gazed sadly from under a

smooth forehead, extending itself well up toward the crown, where his dry

hair dropped over it.

"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Peck," said Annie; "I've wanted to tell you

how pleased I am that you found shelter in my old home when you first came

to Hatboro'."

Mr. Peck's trousers were short and badly kneed, and his long coat hung

formlessly from his shoulders; she involuntarily took a patronising tone

toward him which was not habitual with her.

"Thank you," he said, with the dry, serious voice which seemed the fit

vocal expression of his presence; "I have been afraid that it seemed like

an intrusion to you."

"Oh, not the least," retorted Annie. "You were very welcome. I hope you're

comfortably placed where you are now?"

"Quite so," said the minister.

"I'd heard so much of your little girl from Mrs. Bolton, and her attachment

to the house, that I ventured to send for her to-day. But I believe I gave

her rather a bad quarter of an hour, and that she liked the place better

under Mrs. Bolton's _régime_."

She expected some deprecatory expression of gratitude from him, which would

relieve her of the lingering shame she felt for having managed so badly,

but he made none.

"It was my fault. I'm not used to children, and I hadn't taken the

precaution to ask her name--"