“B’en doin’ any school-teachin’ sence ye left these parts?” he drawled, as the two struck the road at a pace commensurate to the unhurried gait of the old horses.
“No,” said the stranger. He plunged his hands deep in his pockets, the merriment suddenly gone from his face and eyes.
“Ye look consid’ble older’n ye did,” observed Peg mildly, “an’ the whiskers gives ye a diff’rent look; but come t’ take notice, most anybody’d know ye, though ye must hev knocked ’round consid’able. Hev any luck minin’?”
Whitcomb laughed, throwing back his head as if the question afforded him a vast deal of amusement.
“Luck?” he echoed. “Certainly; a man’s bound to strike luck of one sort or another.”
“That’s a fac’,” agreed Peg sententiously, “an’ you can’t most always sometimes tell one sort f’om the other. What passes fer the worst sort o’ luck ’ll frequent turn out to be fust-rate. I knew a man once——”
He stopped short, his jaw dropping at sight of the numerous vehicles congregated near the house which they were approaching. “I swan!” he ejaculated. “It sure does look like—— But Miss Barb’ry never said nothin’ t’ me. She never tol’ me——”
“I’m going in,” said David Whitcomb, scowling.
Several women congregated near the door stared at him with a resentful air as he made his way masterfully among them.