David drove up to the side entrance of the large, white-columned, porticoed house, on the spacious veranda of which sat a fair-haired young woman with luminous eyes and smiling mouth. The smile deepened as she saw the curiously disfigured horse ambling up to the stone step. 101
“Whoa, Old Hundred!” commanded David, whereupon the smile became a rippling laugh. David got out, lifted the little girl to the ground very carefully, and gave a helping hand to the nimble, independent Janey.
“Mother,” cried Carey delightedly, “this is Janey and her ’dopted brother David.”
David touched his cap gravely in acknowledgment of the introduction. He had never heard his name pronounced as this little girl spoke it, with the soft “a.” It sounded very sweet to him.
“I’ll drive back for you before sundown, Janey,” said David, preparing to climb into the wagon.
“No,” objected Carey, regarding him with apprehension, “I want you to stay and play with me. Tell him to stay, mother.”
There was a regal carriage to the little head and an imperious note––the note of an only child––in her voice.
“Maybe David has other things to do than to play with little girls,” said her mother, “but, David, if you can stay, I wish you would.” 102
“I should like to stay,” replied David earnestly, “but they expect me back, and Old Hundred is needed in the field.”
“Luke can drive your horse back, and we will see that you and Janey ride home.”