“Why don’t the gates and the doors match, I wonder,” remarked Priscilla, who had an eye for color combinations.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” replied Jack, bringing the wagon to a stop before a path bordered with clam shells. The path led up to the front door, and another row of clam shells surrounded the house, which was built, like so many others in Nova Scotia, with overlapped shingles on one side and clapboards on the other three.
“Let the youngsters run about a bit while I go in,” directed Jack, preparing to climb over the wheel.
At this moment the sound of galloping horses on the road over which they had just come made everyone turn; and they saw another wagon, the counterpart of their own, swaying crazily from side to side as the driver urged on his excited animals.
“Runaway!” squealed René delightedly.
“They’ll hit us!” shrieked Priscilla.
Jack deftly pushed off the road into a field, and jumped from the wagon ready to be of assistance. His keen eye saw at once, however, that the approaching team was not out of control. As soon as it came abreast of the Wistmore “store” the driver pulled up with a suddenness which threw the animals on their haunches; and, leaping from his seat, he faced Jack belligerently.
CHAPTER VIII
A FIGHT
“My territory!” growled the man, motioning toward the house. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re mistaken,” responded Jack quickly. “I have old Simon’s entire route, and this is the first stop on the list he gave me.”