The colt took a high-kicking turn about the chestnut tree, swinging the keys from his teeth, and then trotted up to the girl and dropped them in her hand. Si Blodgett reached for them, but Amanda was too quick for him.
“W’y, of all things,” she said, holding one of the keys in a firm grip, “if here ain’t that lost key of our henhouse!”
Si Blodgett’s face turned red, then pale, and then he laughed nervously.
“Ye don’t say, Sister Amanda. I was wonderin’ if it was yourn, the day I found it in—in th’ road.”
Gabriel was beginning to look dangerous, but he couldn’t resist a thrust at Amanda.
“What do ye go ’round sowin’ henhouse keys for, Mandy? Expect to raise a crop of ’em?”
“I left that key in the henhouse door,” said Amanda stubbornly, “an’ that’s all there is to it.”
“O Lord, how long, how long!” groaned Si Blodgett, returning to his exhorter manner. “But I don’t bear malice. I’ll take my basket and go on my way in peace.”
“You’ll stop right where you are, Si Blodgett!” thundered Gabriel.
“Oh—er—Mr. Blodgett,” drawled the Poet, coming forward amiably. “I believe you have the reputation of being an earnest worker in—er—in the Lord’s vineyard?”