“An’ I dunno what dad’ll say,” he added, “to your goin’ up there to live.”
“What’s he got to do with it?” asked ’Phemie, quickly.
“Why, we work the farm on shares an’ we was calc’latin’ to do so this year.”
“Our living in the house doesn’t interfere with that arrangement,” said Lyddy, quietly. “Aunt Jane told us all about that. I have a letter from her for your father.”
“Aw–well,” commented Lucas, slowly.
The ponies had begun to mount the rise in earnest now. They tugged eagerly at the load, and trotted on the level stretches as though tireless. Lyddy commented upon this, and Lucas flushed with delight at her praise.
“They’re hill-bred, they be,” he said, proudly. “Tackle ’em to a buggy, or a light cart, an’ up hill or down hill means the same to ’em. They won’t break their trot.
“When it comes plowin’ time we clip ’em, an’ then they don’t look so bad in harness,” confided the young fellow. “If–if you like, I’ll take you drivin’ over the hills some day–when the roads git settled.”
“Thank you,” responded Lyddy, non-committally.
But ’Phemie giggled “How nice!” and watched the red flow into the young fellow’s face with wicked appreciation.