“I know; mebbe we be,” admitted Sister, slowly. “But it don't feel so.”
And perhaps Hiram had some such thought, too, after he had driven the girls to the big boarding school in Scoville. For they all got out without even thanking him or bidding him good-bye—all save Lettie.
“Really, we are a thousand times obliged to you, Hiram Strong,” she said, in her very best manner, and offering him her hand. “As the girls were my guests I felt I must get them home again safely—and you were indeed a friend in need.”
But then she spoiled it utterly, by adding:
“Now, how much do I owe you, Hiram?” and took out her purse. “Is two dollars enough?” This put Hiram right in his place. He saw plainly that, friendly as the Bronsons were, they did not look upon a common farm-boy as their equal—not in social matters, at least.
“I could not take anything for doing a neighbor a favor, Miss Bronson,” said Hiram, quietly. “Thank you. Good-day.”
Hiram drove back home feeling quite as depressed as Sister, perhaps. Finally he said to himself:
“Well, some day I'll show 'em!”
After that he put the matter out of his mind and refused to be troubled by thoughts of Lettie Bronson, or her attitude toward him.
Spring was advancing apace now. Every day saw the development of bud, leaf and plant. Slowly the lowland was cleared and the brush and roots were heaped in great piles, ready for the torch.