Malcolm was an ideal lodger; he gave
little trouble, beyond having his bath filled and his boots well
polished. He breakfasted in his own apartment, but he always dined
with the Kestons. A solitary chop eaten in solitude was not to his
taste, and he much preferred sharing his friends' homely meals.
"Plain living and high thinking suit me down to the ground," he
would say--"a laugh helps digestion;" but in spite of his
philosophic theories, many secret dainties found their way into the
Keston larder, and were regarded doubtfully and with awe by an
anxious young housekeeper.
Anna felt a little quickening of excitement as they walked up the
flagged path--she could not look indifferently at the house where
Malcolm lived. It seemed an age to both of them before the door was
opened. Malcolm had knocked twice, and was meditating a third
assault, when they heard footsteps, and the next moment a little
brown girl appeared on the threshold with a child in her arms.
"I am so sorry, Mr. Herrick, but Hepsy has just gone for the milk,"
she whispered to Malcolm, who did not seem a bit surprised by the
intelligence.
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