“I know,” she continued, regarding Posey as though she had been a wooden image, or something equally destitute of hearing, to say nothing of feeling, “that it’s a big risk to take one of those street children; you never know what tricks they have, or what they may turn out to be. This one isn’t very big, but she looks healthy, an’ I see she was spry, an’ I guess I’ll be able to make her earn as much as her salt, anyway.”
Posey’s cheeks flamed hotly, and she was on the point of an indignant protest that she had never been a street child in her life, when she caught a slight shake of the head from Mr. Hagood. Then Mrs. Hagood turned away to direct her husband as he folded a horse-blanket to form a seat for Posey, at the same time enveloping herself in a large, black, shiny waterproof cloak, to protect her from the mud, and tying a thick brown veil over her bonnet to serve the same purpose.
When all was ready, Mr. Hagood lifted Posey into the buggy, with another friendly smile that went warm to her heart, and as soon as the various packages with which she had returned laden, were settled to Mrs. Hagood’s satisfaction they were on their way. But they had not driven far when leaning across Posey, who was seated between them, Mrs. Hagood snatched the reins from her husband’s hands, exclaiming, “Elnathan Hagood, give me those lines, an’ see if I can’t drive without gettin’ into every mudhole we come to.”
Mr. Hagood yielded without a word. The first thought of their wide-eyed young companion was of wonder that he should do so. In her heart she felt that if she were a man she would not, but as she furtively glanced from him to his wife, it was with the instinctive feeling that protest or opposition on his part would be useless.
On account of the muddy clay road their progress was but slow, but accustomed only to city sights, and for so long to the seclusion of the Refuge, Posey enjoyed every step of the way. The pleasant farmhouses they passed, set in their wide, deep yards; the barns with cattle standing around, chewing placid cuds and looking at them with large soft eyes; the full and rushing brooks that came darting out of the fields with a swirl to rush across the road into the fields again; the bits of woods, shadowy and quiet; the soft brown of the rolling fields; the fresh spring air, the wide outlook, the very novelty and strangeness of it all. And to her it seemed quite too soon that climbing the long hill they entered the village of Horsham, whose white church spire had for some time been looking down on them.
Horsham, like most country villages, consisted of a central cluster of stores and shops, from which radiated a scattering company of comfortable homes, and all surrounded and over-arched with imbosoming trees. Presently the sleek bay horse turned into the yard of one of the most cosy of these, trim with white paint and green blinds. At the first glance Posey saw that everything about the place was faultlessly neat and tidy; and also that on the opposite side of the drive, near the street but in the same yard, was another and smaller building bearing above its door a sign,
ELNATHAN HAGOOD. WAGONS REPAIRED.
She had little time to look around, however, for Mrs. Hagood, unlocking a side door, led the way into a large, comfortable kitchen. Hastily divesting herself of her outer wraps, she opened the door to a bedroom off from it, which was only long enough for the bed, and wide enough to admit at the side of the bed a washstand and a chair.
“Here, Posey,” she said, “is your room. You will find it clean and tidy, and I shall expect you to keep it so. Now take off your things and hang them on those nails behind the door, and put on one of your gingham aprons, that you wore at the Refuge, to keep your dress clean. Then take that pail on the corner table to the spring at the end of the yard and fill it with water. Mind that you don’t slop it over you, or spill any on the floor as you bring it in, either. Then fill the teakettle and put it on to boil, and go out in the woodhouse and get seven potatoes out of the basketful on a bench by the door. Wash them in the tin basin that hangs up over the sink and put them in the oven to bake.” Here Mrs. Hagood added some more wood to that which had burned low in the stove, opened the draughts and set it to burning briskly. “By the time you have done that I will have my dress changed and be back to show you where to get the things to set the table.”
Posey had proceeded as far as the filling of the teakettle when Mr. Hagood entered and after a glance around the room as if to assure himself that they were alone drew from his pocket a handful of apples. “They’re russets,” he said in a cautious voice, holding them out to her. “They’ve just got meller an’ I thought mebby you’d like to keep ’em in your room an’ eat one when you felt like it.” And Posey gratefully accepted the good-will offering, and the suggestive hint implied with it.