“Ah, my girl, Belworthy’s darter, ban’t ’e? A peart maid an’ well thought on, I doubt not. Be you gwaine home-along?”
Sarah’s heart fluttered at this genial salutation. “Ess, maister,” she said.
“Then I’ll lighten your journey. I haven’t got the double saddle, but you’m awnly a featherweight an’ can ride pillion behind me an’ save your shoes.”
The mode of travel he suggested was common enough in those days, but such a proposal from Tim’s father frightened Sarah not a little. Her first thought was for herself, her second for her sweetheart, and she nerved herself to refuse the farmer’s offer.
“I’m sure you’m very kind, sir, but—”
“No ‘buts.’ Here’s a stone will make a splendid upping stock, an’ `Sharky’ can carry the pair of us without knowing his load be increased. Up you get! Theer’s plenty of room for my fardels in front o’ the pommel. Us won’t bate our pace for you, I promise. Now jump! Whoa, bwoy! Theer we are. Just put your arms around my flannel waistcoat an’ doan’t be shy. ’Tis well I met ’e, come to think on’t, for I wanted a matter o’ few words.”
Soon they jogged forward, the big horse taking little account of Sarah’s extra weight. At length they crossed Riddon Ridge and passed Dart at a ford, where Sarah had to hold up her toes out of the reach of the river. Then, as they rode along the foothills of Bellever, the farmer spoke suddenly.
“My life’s been wisht of late days along wi’ taking thought for my son Tim. You’ve heard tell of un? You see, ’tis my wish to have un mated wi’ his cousin. But I’m led to onderstand as theer’s a maiden up-long he thinks he likes better; an’ her name’s same as yours, Sarah Belworthy.”
“Oh, Maister Chave, I do love un very dear, I do.”
“So you done to that yellow man, Jan Aggett.”