The lad laughed as they rode on up the trail with Grant and Hetty in front of them, and Muller following.
“No,” he said. “To be frank, I came out because my friends in the old one seemed to fancy the same thing of me. When they have no great use for a young man yonder, they generally send him to America. In fact, they send some of them quite a nice cheque quarterly so long as they stay there. You see, we are like the hedgehogs, or your porcupines, if you grow them here, Miss Schuyler.”
Flora Schuyler smiled. “You are young, or you wouldn’t empty the magazine all at once in answer to a single shot.”
“Well,” said Breckenridge, “so are you. It is getting dark, but I have a notion that you are something else too. The fact I mentioned explains the liberty.”
Flora shook her head. “The dusk is kind. Any way, I know I am years older than you. There are no little girls in this country like the ones you have been accustomed to.”
“Now,” said Breckenridge, “my sisters and cousins are, I firmly believe, a good deal nicer than those belonging to most other men; but, you see, I have quite a lot of them, and any one so favoured loses a good many illusions.”
In the meantime Hetty, who, when she fancied he would not observe it, glanced at him now and then, rode silently beside Grant until he turned to her.
“I have a good deal to thank you for, Hetty, and—for you know I was never clever at saying the right thing—I don’t quite know how to begin. Still, in the old times we understood just what each other meant so well that talking wasn’t necessary. You know I’m grateful for my liberty and would sooner take it from you than anybody else, don’t you?”
Hetty laid a restraint upon herself, for there was a thrill in the man’s voice, which awakened a response within her. “Wouldn’t it be better to forget those days?” she said. “It is very different now.”
“It isn’t easy,” said Grant, checking a sigh. “I ’most fancied they had come back the night you told me how to get away.”