"I did," acknowledged Sally, with a covert smile. "It was cool and pleasant walking."
"Well, come! Put your bundles down in front and jump in," said her companion. "Riding's better than walking any day, and good company's better than either," he added, with a tender leer at her, which Sally pretended not to see.
There was nothing for it but to accept the proffered seat. She did not dare openly to offend the Squire by a refusal to ride with him, though she would willingly have chosen the long, warm walk, even with the additional burden of her bundles, in preference to his company. As her mother had said only that morning, it was through his influence that she had been appointed keeper of the New Pike Gate, and it was due to him she now kept it, so Sally civilly thanked him and got into the buggy.
"If I had counted on such good company, I would have had this old rattletrap cleaned up a bit," said the Squire, apologetically, as they drove off. "But, never mind!" he added, jocosely. "When we start out on our wedding trip, I'll buy a brand-new, shiny rig, out an' out."
"We?" echoed Sally, with a certain sharpness of tone.
"You don't suppose I'd care to go on a bridal trip alone, do you?" inquired the Squire, laconically, and with a wink of one watery eye.
"I'm afraid you will, if you depend on me to go along with you," answered Sally, dryly.
"Now, my dear, you surely wouldn't be that cruel?" said the Squire, edging a little closer to Sally, who as promptly moved away. "Haven't I been depending on your going all the while, and haven't I said that I wouldn't have any other girl but you, though there's plenty would be only too glad to go for the asking?"
"An' there's one that wouldn't," announced Sally, coolly.