“Aren’t you going to talk?” said I, in my natural voice.
We had passed the hill, and were going along at a good pace; but he gave the reins such a jerk that the horse stopped.
“You won’t be cross with me again, will you?” said I, anxious to pledge him to good temper while he was in the first flush of his joy at meeting me; for it was joy.
He slipped the reins into his right hand and put his other arm around me and kissed me, Shetland veil and all. And so we made it up without a word of explanation.
I told him my errand, and he told me his. His father had gone up to town that day to arrange for the disposal of some shares in order to purchase a farm for Laurence a few miles off, which was to be stocked, according to his promise, while his son was away. He was to return by a train which reached Beaconsburgh about ten o’clock, and Laurence was on the way to meet him.
“We will call at Doctor Lowe’s first, and then you shall go on with me to the station and see my father,” said he.
I protested a little that I ought to go back with the Doctor; but of course he carried his point.
“What do you want a farm for, Laurence?” I asked, as we waited outside the station.
I remained in the cart holding the reins, for fear my quaint appearance should excite curiosity regarding young Mr. Reade’s companion if I got out and went into the station with him. But he stood by my side holding my hand under my cloak while we talked in a low voice.
“What do I want a farm for? Why, to have a home for you and something to live on, of course! I know something about farming, and it doesn’t matter if I do lose a little just at first.”