They had it ready at the back of the cart in a few moments, and Evelyn, who knew that a four-bushel bag of oats is difficult to move, was astonished at the ease with which they handled it. Vane got the bag upon his back and walked up the hill with it. The veins stood out on his forehead and his face grew red, but he plodded steadily on and came back for another load.
"I'll take an armful of the slates this time, Carroll. You can tackle the cake."
The cake was heavy, though the bag was not full, and when they returned,
Carroll was breathing hard and there were smears of blood on one of
Vane's hands. The old woman gazed at him in amazed admiration.
"Thank you, sir," she said. "There's not many men wad carry four bushel up a bank like that."
Vane laughed.
"I'm used to it. Now I think that we can face the hill."
He seized the rein, and after a flounder or two the pony started the load and struggled up the ascent. Leaving the woman at the top, voluble with thanks, Vane came down and sauntered on again with Mabel.
"I made sure you would drop that bag until I saw how you got hold of it, and then I knew you would manage," she informed him. "You see, I've watched the men at Scarside mill. I didn't want you to drop it."
"I wonder why?" laughed Vane.
"If you do, you must be stupid. We're friends, aren't we? I like my friends to be able to do anything that other folks can. That's partly why I took to you."