The farmer scratched his ear.
“Happen one o’ t’ young gentlemen ’ll droive ye over.”
“Oh no,” said Freda quickly. “I wouldn’t go back there for anything in the world!”
The farmer grinned, nodded, helped Freda into his cart, and started off at a much better pace than they had made with Josiah Kemm’s old mare the night before.
“Weel, lassie,” he said, as they jogged along, “ye’ve made a better conquest nor any scapegrace of a Heritage. That theer swell that was so kind to ye at t’ ‘Barley Mow,’ he’s gone clear creazed about ye. When Ah left ye at t’ farm last neght, Ah fahnd him on t’ road, mahnding for to get to Presterby. Ah towd him he couldn’t the neght, an’ Ah tuck him back; an’ t’ missus, when she’d satisfied herself he warn’t a woman in disguise, was moighty civil. An’ he said sooch things abaht yer having a sweet little feace, an’ he said he should call at t’ Abbey to see ye.”
“Barnabas,” said Freda suddenly, “why did you look so mysterious last night when I told you that he had something to do with the government?”
The farmer gave her an alarmed glance, as he had done the night before, and said in a cautious tone:
“Ye’ve gotten a pair of sharp ears, an’ they hear more’n there’s ony need. Ye didn’t reeghtly unnerstand, lass.”
After this there came a long pause, during which Freda puzzled herself as to what the inhabitants of this district had been doing, to have such a fear of the government. It was getting dark when Barnabas broke the long silence by saying, as he pointed with his whip to the summit of a hill they were about to ascend:
“T’ Abbey’s oop top o’ theer.”