“No, to Adelaine Drexel. I had a letter from her this morning, and oh, Buddy, I forgot to tell you, Adelaine writes that she has a first cousin living in this town. I am so thankful to find that after all there is at least one girl of my own set in this dreadful place, but what I would like to know is, why didn’t she call upon me instead of those——”
“Butter churners and milkmaids,” Alfred finished for her.
Geraldine, who had been carefully picking her way through a snowdrift, trying to step just where her brother did, happened to look up suddenly and saw the shoulders of the boy ahead shaking with silent laughter. Before she could ask the cause of this, sleigh bells were heard back of them and a merry voice called: “Ho there, Alfred Morrison! Through stage for Sunnyside! Any passengers wish to ride?”
Jack Lee and Bob Angel were beaming down from the high seat of a delivery sleigh belonging to the father of the latter boy.
Bob often assisted his father after school hours, sometimes acting as clerk in the busy little grocery, or again doing the rural delivering.
Geraldine was indignant. “Ride with a grocer boy? Indeed not!” she was thinking. “Probably a brother to one of the milkmaids.” She flushed angrily when she saw Alfred turn back and answer the salutation with a hearty, “Hullo there, boys. Sure thing, I’d like to ride! Would you, Geraldine?”
The girl drew herself up haughtily as she said in a low tone: “A Morrison ride in a delivery cart? Never.”
Bob, not having heard a word of the conversation, stopped the horse, and Jack, leaping down from the high seat, snatched off his hat and acknowledged the introduction to Geraldine with as much courtesy as a city boy would have done; and what was more, the girl’s eyes, even though they were disdainful, quickly perceived that Jack was unusually good looking.
So, too, was the beaming face of the driver, who called pleasantly: “Miss Morrison, please pardon me for not getting out, but my steed is restless today. Our conveyance is not a fashionable one, I know, but if you will honor us, we will gladly take you to your destination.” Geraldine hardly knew how to reply. This boy seemed nice, but of course he belonged to the trades-people, and—Bob was again speaking: “Why don’t you let me drive you over to our house? The girls are having a sewing bee, I think they call it. Doris Drexel and all the rest of them are there.”
Geraldine looked up brightly: “Thank you,” she said, “I would like to go.”