"Wall, I'm sorry none of ye ain't dry," said Morrison.
"No, thank you," replied Thayor; "we must be getting up to camp."
Again the bays fell into a brisk trot.
Alice was furious.
"Who is that dreadful person, Sam?" she asked.
"You must not mind him, Alice. He meant well enough," explained her husband. "Morrison's rough, I'll grant you, but he's a good fellow at heart."
"It was only his way," added Holcomb. "He didn't mean to be impolite,
Mrs. Thayor."
"Of course he didn't, mother," added Margaret with a glance at
Holcomb.
The bays turned suddenly to the left into the new road. Alice emitted a sigh of relief. There was a sense of luxury—of exclusiveness—in passing over its smooth surface. Morrison and his common hotel, with its blear-eyed windows, were now well out of sight. Presently the camp lay ahead of them—an orderly settlement of trim buildings. Margaret was too excited to do more than gaze ahead of her with eager interest.
"Here we are!" exclaimed Thayor. "There, Alice, you can thank Mr.
Holcomb for all you see; I really had nothing to do with it."