“This is Mr. Kermode, who brought me here,” she said. “My brother, Tom Foster.”
“Indebted to you,” responded the man. “I was driving home when you shouted; my place is about six miles off. If you’ll follow, I’ll take my sister in the wagon.”
Kermode thought it better that she should explain the reason for their journey, and he got into the saddle and contented himself with keeping the vehicle in sight until it stopped at a wooden house that stood near a sod stable and rude log barn. When he entered the dwelling after putting up the horse, the lamp was lighted and the stove burning. He saw that Foster was a young man with a good-humored brown face.
“I understand that I owe you more than I thought at first,” he said. “Helen seems to have been pretty awkwardly situated when you appeared on the scene. Sit down and smoke while I get supper.”
They talked gaily during the meal.
“Is there any means of sending back the horse I brought?” Kermode asked after a while.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Foster replied.
“I have a neighbor who is going east on business. He’ll strike the new line where you left it, and he’ll be glad to have the horse.”
Then they talked about other matters, but when the men sat smoking some time later, Foster said cordially:
“You’ll stay here a while?”