"Why don't you let 'em out? You've gone and left your whip at home. How are we going to get up the hill?"
The grin faded from Old William's face. "Gid ap!" he roared, and then the bays showed what they could really do in the way of hurrying for the doctor. The old carryall leaped a thank-you-ma'am clean. When it struck, the hickory wheels bent to the storm, but did not break. Instead, they shot their load into the air. A low-hanging branch swooped down and swept the canopy, supports and all, off the carryall. William never looked back.
Lewis clung to the back of the front seat.
"D-d-dad," he stuttered, "p-please don't say anything more to him! D-d'you know they're still trotting?"
At last the bays swung off upon the steep Hill Road, and slowed down to a fast, pulling walk. Old William dropped the reins on the dash-board, made a telling shot with tobacco juice at a sunflower three yards off, and turned to have a chat.
"Glen," he said, "I reckon, after all, there's times when you c'n do without sofy pillows."
"Why, William," said Leighton, still pale with fright, "If I'd had a pillow, I'd have gone fast asleep." Then he smiled. "Some of the old stock?"
William nodded.
"I don't mind tellin' you I ain't drove like thet sence the day me'n you—"
"Never mind since when, William," broke in Leighton, sharply. "How's
Mrs. Tuck?"