“If you see any new flowers, some of those wild orchids Miss Greatorex read grew around here, will you bring me some? Just a few for specimens, to press for Father John and Mr. Seth? They would be so pleased and I will be so grateful. Will you?”
Anton nodded. Promises were easy to make, and to break if he wished. Then came a maid from the kitchen with a message for her home, a tiny clearing on the edge of the “further wood.” To her, also, a promise was readily spoken; and master Anton thrusting the securely tied packet of letters into his pocket, bowed to Mrs. Hungerford with a third and more important promise.
“’Tis of a truth I will deliver this into the hand of the man they call a Judge. It is a tedious task, yes, but I will so deliver it. Mayhap he too remembers what the Scripture says.”
He uttered the last sentence in a low tone, with a furtive glance houseward, and bearing himself with an air of great complacency. He had become a very important person just then, had Anton, the “bound out.” Moreover, he was wholly honest in his determination so to deliver the letters. That Judge in the woods hadn’t heard the mistress’s opinion about payment and it wasn’t necessary that he should. Other farm hands had witnessed to the liberality of those odd men who lived in a tent, wore old clothes when they could wear new, and cooked their own food when they might have had others cook for them. Anton was not afraid to trust his “payment” to the man who owned the letters in that packet.
Now it so happened that Molly was riding about the grounds and up and down a leafy lane upon a gentle horse that her father had engaged for her own and Dorothy’s enjoyment while on that lonely farm. She used the creature far more than Dorothy, as was natural and right enough; and had mounted it that day to escape what she called her chum’s “everlasting fiddling.”
Dorothy was as fond of her violin as Molly averse to her piano; and the nearest to dispute which ever rose between them was on account of Dolly’s devotion to her music. She had even complained to Aunt Lucretia that “a violin made her head ache.” Whereupon the ambitious violinist had begged permission of its owner to use an empty corncrib at the foot of the “long orchard,” as a music-room, and there “squeaked” as long and as loud as she pleased. She was going there now, violin case under her arm, to pass the half-hour before dinner and to watch the men come in from the fields, at the ringing of the great bell which hung from a pole beside the kitchen door. To her the country was full of every possible delight, but poor Molly found it “too quiet and lonely for words.” So she spent more and more of her time on every pleasant day, riding up and down the lanes or following Farmer Grimm to the fields.
Between those two a great affection had sprung up. He liked her fearlessness in riding and laughed at her timidity when horned cattle appeared anywhere near. He was proud of the way in which she could take a fence and kept her with him all he could.
On this day, however, he could not so take her. His errands were too far afield and too unsuited for her, and that was why she now rode alone, rather disconsolately up and down, until she saw Anton come out of the stable yard, mounted upon the gray mare and holding his head like a prince.
“Anton! Anton! Oh! are you going riding? Take me with you! Please, please, Anton!”
For answer he touched Bess with his heel and she flew out of the enclosure like a bird.