At that moment Patience appeared, rather breathless—but not half as much so as Miranda, who had been drawn into service, and now appeared also—"You ain't half buttoned up behind, Patience!" she protested, "and your hair ribbon's not tied fit to be seen.—My sakes, to think of anyone ever having named that young one Patience!"
"I'll overhaul her, Miranda," Pauline comforted her. "Come here,
Patience."
"Please, I am to sit up in front with you, ain't I, Tom?" Patience urged. "You and I always get on so beautifully together, you know."
Tom relaxed a second time. "I don't see how I can refuse after that," and the over-hauling process being completed, Patience climbed up to the high front seat, where she beamed down on the rest with such a look of joyful content that they could only smile back in response.
From the doorway, came a warning voice. "Not too far, Tom, for Hilary; and remember, Patience, what you have promised me."
"All right, Mrs. Shaw," Tom assured her, and Patience nodded her head assentingly.
From the parsonage, they went first to the doctor's. Josie was waiting for them at the gate, and as they drew up before it, with horn blowing, and horses almost prancing—the proprietor of the hotel had given them his best horses, in honor of the Folly—she stared from her brother to the stage, with its white placard, with much the same look of wonder in her eyes as Pauline and Hilary had shown.
"Miss Brice?" Tom was consulting his list again.
"So that's what you've been concocting, Tom Brice!" Josie answered.
Tom's face was as sober as his manner. "I am afraid we are a little behind scheduled time, being unavoidably delayed."