“But I never give my horse any—do I, Methusalem dear?”
Such word-mockery was bewildering to his simpler brain. He opened his mouth, but nothing came, and his vexation only increased for finding no vent.
“May she have to do with pigs?” queried Jinny again.
“Pigs are at home,” he conceded.
“Not always,” she said demurely. “I meet lots on this very road.”
“And you might meet worse than pigs on a lonely road like this—you might meet men——”
“Like I’ve met one now.”
“Yes, but it happens to be me!” he said, again all but forgetting her ignorance of his identity. “Usually it would be dangerous.”
“Well, but wouldn’t it be just as dangerous for a male carrier?”
“Not at all. He can fight.”