“I should hope so,” Agnes returned proudly.
“’Pears to me land’s plenty enough not to be making such a hot fuss about that place o’ Muirhead’s. Why don’t he give it up peaceable? Big, heavy man like him could easy start an’ clar up another place in no time. I believe in fightin’ fur my rights, but I’ll be switched if I believe in bullyin’ wimmin folks. I declar, gal, ye look whiter’n my old hoss. I’ve skeered ye good, hevn’t I?”
“I’m not scared, except—except for Mr. Willett. I feel as if that Muirhead wouldn’t stop at anything.”
“Blest if she ain’t right,” said Dod to himself, but he put on a cheerful face and said, “Don’t ye cross no bridges till ye come to ’em. I’m off now, and I’d be willin’ to bet ye a pretty that Park’ll be settin’ in my house inside o’ twenty-four hours. Keep yer mouth shet, remember.” And he rode off.
Agnes, with palpitating heart, stood for a moment powerless. Then she rushed to the house. “Mother,” she said, trying to speak calmly, “do you mind if I go across the river to Hunter’s for a while?”
“So soon ready to leave your mother?” replied Mrs. Kennedy. “Ah, but youth does love change.”
“It isn’t that I love change, but there is—it may be that I am needed there.”
“Anybody sick at Hunter’s?” asked Polly, putting down the huge horn spoon she held. “Didn’t I see Uncle Dod come in just now?”
“Yes, he was here, and some one is—perhaps—,” faltered Agnes. “It really seemed important that I should go and see what is the matter.” She gained courage as she went on.
“Oh, well, if it is a case of sickness, of course go,” her mother returned, “but I really think Polly or I would be of more use.”