“If I was a mind I could have all Digby village a ridin’ in my ‘ox-omobile.’ They seem to think it’s powerful cunnin’, as if they’d never seen a team of oxen before. Where’ve they lived at, I’d like to know, that they don’t know an ox when they see it. There. Them trunks is in. Now, Sissy, you just set right down and—You’ll find out the rest.”
The trunks did fill the cart pretty well but there was plenty of room to put one’s feet in the spaces between; and Dorothy fixed herself comfortably, wondering why Melvin disdained to ride but strode along beside the teamster who also walked. Throned in solitary state all went well for awhile, until a corner was turned and the steep descent into the town began. Then the trunks slid upon the slippery hay, resting their weight against the chain at the rear, which alone prevented their falling out; and after a few efforts to maintain her seat Dorothy also sprang to the ground and joined the others.
“Ha, ha, ha! Ridin’ up-hill and ridin’ down is two quite different things, ain’t it, Sissy? Ever been to the pier to see the boat start across the Bay to St. John’s, New Brunswick? No? First time you been to the Province? All right. You stick close to me and I’ll p’int out all the ‘lions’ there is to see. Melvin, here, can talk as glib as the next one when he gets waked up, but I know more about Digby ’an he does. One the sights towerists rave the most over is the fish-grounds. They’re right adj’ining the pier and you can kill them two ‘lions’ at once. Ha, ha!”
“But, sir, I’m afraid I ought to go back. I mean—to where my friends are. Is the pier on the road home?” asked Dorothy.
“All roads lead home—for somebody. The pier and the fish-curin’ grounds amongst ’em. Don’t you vex yourself, Sissy. If you was to go from one end to the other of this little town you couldn’t never get fur from where you live.”
The truth was that the old teamster wanted to keep the young folks with him as long as he could. There were still numberless questions he hadn’t put to Melvin and he had taken a fancy to Dorothy. If she was simply a “towerist” she was, of course, an idler and it was of no consequence her wasting her time. He hadn’t learned yet why Melvin was here and if he didn’t find that out he felt he “couldn’t bear it.” So now he asked:
“Well, son of all the Cooks, what’s fetched you here this time o’ day? Lost your job?”
“Not exactly. I’ve given it up. I’m tired of sailing back and forth over the same old route and a friend of mine wanted to take my place. I’m going to help a gentleman I know in his camping out. Cook, maybe, or whatever he wants. Now—that’s all. You needn’t ask me how much I earn, or what’s next, or anything. You just go ahead and tell this Miss Dorothy anything you fancy; since you know so much more of things than I do.”
“H’ity-t’ity! Miffed, be ye? Never mind. You’d ought to rest your tongue, ’cause I ’low it’s never wagged so fast afore in your whole life. But I’m ekal to it. I’m ekal. I’ve growed to be a regular ‘Digby chicken,’ I’ve tarried here so long already. Ever eat ‘Digby chicken,’ Sissy?”
Joel was affronted in his own turn now and determined to ignore that “Miss” which Melvin had pronounced so markedly. Joel wasn’t used to “Miss”-ing any girl of Dorothy’s size and he wasn’t going to begin at his time of life. Not he!