It was perfectly ridiculous (to the young people) to see these middle-aged lovers courting like sixteen-year-olds, and they had no mercy on either Bill or Sarah.
Bill drove up in leisurely way, his horses steaming, his wagon-wheels loaded with mud. Mrs. Gray was with him, her jolly face shining like the morning sun.
"Hello, folkses, are you all here?"
"Good morning, Mrs. Gray," said the Deacon, approaching to help her out. "Hello, Bill, nice morning."
Bill looked at Sarah for a moment. "Bully good," he said, leaving his mother to scramble down the wagon-wheel alone—at least so far as he was concerned, but the Deacon stood below courageously.
Mrs. Gray cried out in her loud good humor: "Look out, Deacon, don't git too near me—if I should fall on you there wouldn't be a grease spot left. There! I'm all right now," she said, having reached ground without accident. She shook her dress and looked briskly around. "Wal, what you done, anyway? Emmy's folks come yet?"
"No, but I guess that's them comin' now. I hope Ike won't come, though."
Mrs. Gray stared at the Deacon. "Why not?"
"Well, he's just sure to make a fuss," said Jack, "he's so afraid he won't get his share."
Bill chewed on a straw and looked at Sarah abstractedly.