To his surprise the singing came to an abrupt halt, just as the wagon approached the end of the hedge.
There was a chorus of merry “whoas!” as the horses drew up, and through the clear air Seth could hear a confused babel of voices, all jovially discussing something. One male voice, louder than the rest, called out:
“You’d better let me come along with you!”
There was some giggling audible, out of which rose a clear, fresh girlish voice which Seth knew:
“No, thanks! I can cut across by this path in less than no time. I’m not afraid. The tramps are all abed and asleep by this time, like other honest people.”
With more laughter, and a salvo of “good nights!” the wagon started off again, and Annie Fairchild, singing lightly to herself the refrain of the chorus, and holding her face up to catch the full radiance of the moonlight, came walking briskly down the path.
Despite her valiant confidence the young woman gave a visible start of alarm as Seth stepped out from the shadows to speak to her. She threw herself forward as if to run, then looked again, stopped, and then gave a little tremulous laugh, and cried:
“Why, Seth! is that you. Mercy! How you frightened me!”
He could think of nothing better than a feeble parody of her words: “Yes, it is time all honest people were abed and asleep.”
He said this with a half-smile, but the girl’s face grew more serious still as she looked at her cousin. She spoke eagerly:—