“I think I could find them without trouble,” said Parker, smiling, as Polly’s laugh smote his ear. Polly was always merry over the dye-kettle. “You’ll come this evening, Mrs. Kennedy?”
“Gladly. I have never crossed the river, you know.”
“It is not much of a journey if one rows over from this side; sometimes, though, I find it easier to come by the ford. I think if you row over and I meet you with horses on the other side, it will be the best way. It will be bright moonlight coming back, and you need not be afraid even if you do hear uncanny noises.”
“I shall know what they are. I am getting quite used to the sound of wolves and wildcats.”
“I will go and make my request to Polly, then.”
Guided by the peals of laughter, Parker took his way toward the back of the house where Polly was chasing Agnes around with threatening blued hands. “Once I get me hands on that red poll, I’ll make it purple,” she was crying, and Agnes was laughingly defying her with the big stick she had been using to stir the dye.
“I will surely give you a taste of this, Polly, if you come a step nearer,” she was saying.
“You romping children,” cried Parker. “Will you cease your play for a moment and speak to me?”
Polly advanced holding out her blue-stained hand. “I’ll be glad to shake hands with ye, Mr. Willett,” she declared, and laughed with glee as he backed off.
“Polly is so reckless, and she calls my hair red, Mr. Willett,” Agnes complained.