As Dan came up with her, he checked his horse and swung himself to the ground. “Thank God I've passed the boundary!” he exclaimed over his shoulder to the others. “Ride on, my lads, ride on! Don't prate of the claims of hospitality to me. My foot is on my neighbours' heath; I'm host to no man.”
“Come, now, Beau,” remonstrated Jack Morson, looking down from his saddle; “I see in Miss Betty's eyes that she wants me to carry that holly—I swear I do.”
“Then you see more than is written,” declared Champe, from the other side, “for it's as plain as day that one eye says Diggs and one Lightfoot—isn't it, Betty?”
Betty looked up, laughing. “If you are so skilled in foreign tongues, what can I answer?” she asked. “Only that I've been a mile after this holly for the party to-night, and I wouldn't trust it to all of you together—for worlds.”
“Oh, go on, go on,” said Dan, impatiently, “doesn't that mean that she'll trust it to me alone? Good morning, my boys, God be with you,” and he led Prince Rupert aside while the rest rode by.
When they were out of sight he turned to one of the small negroes, his hand on the bridle. “Shall we exchange burdens, O eater of 'possums?” he asked blandly. “Will you permit me to tote your load, while you lead my horse to the house? You aren't afraid of him, are you?”
The little negro grinned. “He do look moughty glum, suh,” he replied, half fearfully.
“Glum! Why, the amiability in that horse's face is enough to draw tears. Come up, Prince Rupert, your highness is to go ahead of me; it's to oblige a lady, you know.”
Then, as Prince Rupert was led away, Dan looked at Betty.
“Shall it be the turnpike or the meadow path?” he inquired, with the gay deference he used toward women, as if a word might turn it to a jest or a look might make it earnest.