Tom Jonah looked longingly after them from the yard, but Agnes shook her head. "Not to-day, old fellow," she told the good old dog. "We're going to travel too fast for you," for the quick-stepping horse was anxious to be on the road.
They departed amid the cheers of the whole family—and Sammy Pinkney, who threw a big cabbage-stalk after them for good luck and yelled his derisive compliments.
"Fresh kid!" muttered Neale.
"I'd like to spank that boy," sighed Agnes. "There never was so bad a boy since the world began, I believe!"
"I expect that's what the neighbors said about little Cain and Abel," chuckled Neale, recovering his good-nature at once.
"Well," said Agnes, "Sammy's worse than little Tommy Rooney, who ran away from Bloomingsburg to kill Indians."
"Did he kill any?" asked Neale.
"Not here in Milton," Agnes said, laughing. "But he came near getting drowned in the canal."
They drove on by the road that led past Lycurgus Billet's. The tumbled-down house looked just as forlorn as ever, its broken windows stuffed with old hats and gunny-sacks and the like, its broken steps a menace to the limbs of those who went in and out.
Mrs. Lycurgus was picking up chips around the chopping-block and was not averse to stopping for a chat. "No, Lycurgus ain't here," she drawled. "He's gone huntin'. This yere's the first day the law's off'n deer an' Lycurgus 'lows ter git his share of deer-meat. He knows where there's a lick," and she chuckled in anticipation of a full larder.