"Never mind. You ask Mrs. Horne. She'll tell you all about it."
Peck had drawn near. He entertained fears for Mrs. Johnson, but none for himself. When he heard this, he laughed. He was disappointed, but he had seen a lot of the world.
"So that's it," said Peck. "You little rascal."
He pinched Hetty lightly on the cheek, but Lafe did not object. Instead, he looked rather sheepish and drew alongside his wife in proper humility. At a word from her they galloped to the front, passed the others of the party, and took charge of the pack-animal. Peck lighted a cigar and joined Prouty. He was smiling and seemed not at all put out.
I fell back to ride with old man Horne. Hetty and Lafe were far in the lead, going at a long lope and beating the mule joyously with a rope-end when it lagged in its pace. She threw a flower at him and he caught it and stuck it inside the bosom of his shirt.
Old man Horne departed at dawn on some cow business, and when his wife went to bed that night, she left injunctions that she was on no account to be disturbed before eleven in the morning. Yet at midnight she was wakened by a knock at her door.
"Wha-what—who's there?" she cried.
Mrs. Vining padded into the room in her bare feet and crawled into bed beside her friend, snuggling against her shoulder. It was black in the room and the older woman winked solemnly at the wall. She waited with patience for the other to speak her mind.
"I couldn't sleep," said Mrs. Vining.
"I could."