Mabel leaned forward and spoke to Mr. Willing.
“You will take me home first, won’t you?” she asked.
“Your father,” was the reply, “has been staying with me for the last week. He is there now. You see, he was kind o’ lonely without his girl, so I just had him come to me.”
The automobile quickly covered the three miles to the Willing farm, and stopped before a broad wooden gate. This opened upon a broad blue-grass field on which a fine herd of cattle were grazing.
“I’ll open the first,” called Shirley, and jumped out of the car.
She threw it wide, and the car passed through. Mabel opened the second one into the paddock, and Shirley the third.
“There,” she said, when she was back in the car rolling through the long yard. “I’m always glad when that is done, although I don’t believe I mind opening gates now.”
“Nor I,” said Mabel. “I remember that is one reason I hated to come here sometimes, there were so many gates to open.”
“The older you get,” said Mr. Willing, who had overheard this conversation, “the less you will mind a little work.”
The car now drew up before a big red brick house, surrounded by many shade trees. The two girls jumped out lightly, and Mr. Willing followed slowly.