“Auction?” repeated Peg. “The’ ain’t no auction at our place—not yet. But you sure do remind me o’ that young school-teacher feller. He got gold crazy, an’ went off——”
“Yes, I know; and got lost on a trail and froze to death,” interrupted the stranger. “So I heard. Sad, wasn’t it? Did they find the body?”
“Not,” said Peg, his puzzled eyes still searching the stranger’s face, “as I heerd tell of.”
“Then you think the coast is clear up at the farm? Is Barbara—Miss Preston—at home?”
“Miss Barb’ry was to home when I come away at six-thirty this mornin’. Say, are you——?”
“I’ll walk over and call on her,” interrupted the young man, with some impatience. “Perhaps Barbara will remember an old friend. Her eyes used to be bright enough.”
Peg unhitched the harrow with fine deliberation.
“Hold on a minute,” he requested, “an’ I’ll step ’long with ye. It’s gittin’ ’long towards noon, anyhow.”
He was furtively studying the younger man’s face and figure, as he let down the bars and drove his horses through.