"Well, if you must know, 'twasn't but fifteen dollars, all told. True. Like Dorothy here I took every cent I had with me an' now I'm powerful glad I did. As for takin' your money, same's sellin' it to you, I shan't. I'm makin' it a present to Dolly an' all of you. If it hadn't been for her I never'd have known Mrs. Calvert nor had the chance of my life. 'Tain't but little, seems if, to return for all you've brought to me. If you don't want to hurt my feelin's and make me stay clean away from Skyrie, you won't say another word on that subject. And I don't want to stay away. I can't, not till some—some things gets straightened out. So, I reckon I'd best go see if there's a good stall in that old barn to put—Say, Dorothy? What you goin' to name the critter, anyway?"
"James Barlow, she is not a 'critter.' She is a perfectly beautiful piebald pony and her name is—Portia!" After which alliterative statement Dorothy rushed toward the lad, intent upon hugging him in gratitude for the gift from which none of them could dissuade him.
But he had had experiences in that line and ungallantly backed away, blushing furiously that these elder people should witness his embarrassment, and covering his confusion by remarking:
"I'm going to the barn now, and you can come with me if you want to. If you do we can eat our dinner outside the door under that shady tree; then, as I've got the hull day give to me, I'd like to go see that mine in the south medder I've heard tell of."
"All right," cheerfully answered the girl, not at all offended by his rebuff of her attentions. "We'll find a place for my Portia and your phaeton, and I think it's perfectly lovely for us to have them, half-and-half, that way, Jim, just think! How little we dreamed of such splendid times together when we were at Miranda Stott's!"
Old "Si Waterman's Folly," as the rumored "mine" was called, seemed to be coming into sudden prominence. For years it had lain unnoticed, but some recent excavations on the other side of the mountain had recalled to the public this long abandoned one at Skyrie. The very first time that Dorothy had the delight of driving her father out in the phaeton, which was so low and comfortable for him to use, they met Friend Oliver Sands upon the road, and he brought up the subject by a roundabout manner all his own.
He had not been present at the "Bee." He had even expressed his disapproval of such an affair, affirming that "nobody should undertake to run a farm unless he knew he could do it." Which might be good sense but influenced few. Indeed, when hearing afterward of the sale whereby Daisy-Jewel was metamorphosed, so to speak, into a pony, he had been angry—as angry as such a benign old gentleman could be.
He had made an unnecessary gift to an unappreciative girl and she had made money out of it; whereas, if things had gone as he expected, it would have been himself who should make it. Hannah had been transformed into a model cow by the simplest of methods, one that he should have been wise enough to try for himself only—he hadn't thought of it. Of course, it was a good thing for him who had advanced money upon the land that Skyrie should be put into good condition, even though it were as temporary as but one day's labor would make it. But he had heard things. Rumors were afloat. He hoped these rumors had not yet reached the ears of Skyrie's owners; but if they had he had still time to forestall them and reap his own advantage. Altogether, a thrifty soul was Oliver, the good; though his tones were sweetly sympathetic as he now brought his own smart team to a standstill in the very path of Portia and the phaeton.
"Don't stop, Dolly, if you can help it, but drive straight past the miller who's coming. Exchange bows, of course, if a Quaker will bow; but I'm too happy to-day to be disturbed by talk with him. Ever since he loaned us that money, 'payable on demand,' I've felt uncomfortable. It's wretched enough to owe money to anybody, but I'd have felt safer if we'd borrowed from Mrs. Calvert or even from a bank. Oh, dear! He's going to stop and we will have to!" had been Mr. Chester's hurried comments, so soon as from a little distance they saw Mr. Sands approaching.
It was a rare bit of confidence and Dorothy looked at him in some surprise. She did not share in her father's prejudice against the kind gentleman who had given her the pretty calf, and indeed was doubly grateful to him now that she had exchanged his gift for Portia. So it was in all sincerity that she returned his pleasant: