A few minutes later Mr. Linton looked up from a letter that had put a
crease into his brow. A firm, flat step sounded in the hall, and Mrs.
Brown came in--cook and housekeeper to the homestead, the guide,
philosopher and friend of everyone, and the special protector of the
little motherless girl about whom David Linton's life centred.
"Brownie" was not a person lightly to be reckoned with, and her master
was wont to turn to her whenever any question arose affecting Norah. He
greeted her warmly now.
"We're all glad to welkim you back, sirr," said Brownie. "As for that
blessed child, she's not like the same 'uman bein' when you're off the
place. Passed me jus' now in the passige, goin' full bat, an' turned
'ead over 'eels, she did--I didn't need to be told you'd got 'ome!" She
hesitated: "You heard from Mrs. Stephenson, sir?"
"Yes," said Mr. Linton, glancing at the letter in his hand. "As I
thought--she confirms our opinion. I'm afraid there's no help for it."
"I knew she would," said Mrs. Brown, heavily, a shadow falling onto her
broad. pleasant face. "Oh, I know there's no 'elp, sir--it has to be.
But--but--" She put her apron to her eyes.
"We're really very lucky, I suppose," Mr. Linton said, in tones
distinctly unappreciative, at the moment, of any luck.
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