"What does the man want meddling with farming?" asked mother. "I shouldn't have thought he was a wiseacre on such-like."
Harrod shrugged his shoulders; he evidently didn't intend to commit himself.
"Mr. Hoad wouldn't wait to hear if other folk thought him a wiseacre before he'd think he had a right to interfere," laughed I. "Those smart daughters of his came inviting Joyce and me to a ball just now."
"You're not going?" asked Harrod, quickly.
"No, no," answered mother. "I don't hold with that kind of amusement for young folk. There's too many strangers."
"Why don't you want us to go?" asked I, softly.
He didn't reply; he whipped up the horse a little instead.
"Miss Farnham declared our going would have been made use of to try and draw father into the election against his will," said I. "But she's always got some queer notion in her head."
"Well, upon my word, I don't believe there's much these electioneering chaps would stick at," declared Harrod, contemptuously. "I declare I believe they'd step into a man's house and get his own chairs and tables to go against him if they could."
Mother laughed, but Harrod did not laugh.