Taffy—without any reason—had expected to see a middle-aged housewife. But Mrs. Joll was hardly over thirty; a shapely woman, with a plain, pleasant face and auburn hair, the wealth of which she concealed by wearing it drawn straight back from the forehead and plaited in the severest coil behind. She shook hands.
“You’ll like a drink of milk before I show you your room?”
Taffy was grateful for the milk. While he drank it, the voices of the children outside rose suddenly to shouts of laughter.
“That will be their father come home,” said Mrs. Joll, and going to the side door called to him. “John, put the children down! Mr. Raymond’s son is here.”
Mr. Joll, who had been galloping round the farmyard with a small girl of three on his back, and a boy of six tugging at his coat-tails, pulled up, and wiped his good-natured face.
“Kindly welcome,” said he, coming forward and shaking hands, while the two children stared at Taffy.
After a minute the boy said, “My name’s Bob. Come and play horses, too.”
Farmer Joll looked at Taffy with a shyness that was comic. “Shall we?”
“Mr. Raymond will be tired enough already,” his wife suggested.
“Not a bit,” declared Taffy; and hoisting Bob on his back, he set off furiously prancing after the farmer.