At first Frank attempted to decline the invitation, but Iva added her invitation to that of her father and brother, and Kenneth promised a jolly time, so that Merry was really inclined to go. A look at Barney’s face showed he was eager to have Frank accept the invitation.
“Well, Barney,” said Frank, “if we stop at Springbrook Farm to-night, you’ll have to watch out for the fellows and let them know about it.”
“Thot Oi’ll do, Frankie,” immediately agreed the Irish lad. “But pwhere is Springbrook Farrum!”
“The farm may be seen from the top of the hill yonder,” said Kenneth. “Come along with us, and we will point it out to you.”
At this juncture, Stephen Fenton suddenly yanked the head of his horse about, gave the creature a cut with the whip, and went tearing along the road in a cloud of dust, having left the others without a word.
“What is the matter with him?” cried Preston St. Ives, watching the fellow with a look of displeasure. “It’s a wonder that horse doesn’t run away with him and kill him!”
“Oh, he has been in a cross mood all the afternoon, papa,” said Iva. “He is out of sorts with everything and everybody, and it was because he accidently struck Rex with his whip that the dear old fellow ran away with me.”
She caressed the muzzle of the horse as she spoke, and the creature seemed pleased with such attention.
“It would serve him right if Firefoot should run away with him!” exclaimed Kenneth, also watching the retreating form of Fenton. “He is hard on a horse, and it’s a wonder to me that he hasn’t been killed before this. He seems to stick in the saddle some way, although he is anything but an easy rider.”
“If that horse’s mouth is not already spoiled, he will spoil it in a week,” declared Frank.