“Somebody coming home for Christmas, I guess,” she said, getting back into the carriage with her spoils. “Princess, you are the dearest horse about not minding automobiles. Some stand right up and paw the air when one goes by. You’ve got the real Robbins’ poise and disposition.”
Doris was snuggling down into the fur robe.
“My nose is cold. I wish I had a mitten for it. It’s funny, Jeanie. I don’t mind the cold a bit when I walk through the woods to school, but I do when we’re driving.”
“Snuggle under the rug. We’ll be there pretty soon.”
Jean drove with her chin up, eyes alert, cheeks rosy. There was a snap in the air that “perked you right up,” as Cousin Roxy would say, and Princess covered the miles lightly, the click of her hoofs on the frozen road almost playing a dance tempo. When they stopped at the hitching post above the railroad tracks, Doris didn’t want to wait in the carriage, so she followed Jean down the long flight of wooden steps that led to the station platform from the hill road above. And just as they opened the door of the little stuffy express office, they caught the voice of Mr. Briggs, the agent, not pleasant and sociable as when he spoke to them, but sharp and high pitched.
“Well, you can’t loaf around here, son, I tell you that right now. The minute I spied you hiding behind that stack of ties down the track, I knew you’d run away from some place, and I’m going to find out all about you and let your folks know you’re caught.”
“I ain’t got any folks,” came back a boy’s voice hopefully. “I’m my own boss and can go where I please.”
“Did you hear that, Miss Robbins?” exclaimed Mr. Briggs, turning around at the opening of the door. “Just size him up, will you. He says he’s his own boss, and he ain’t any bigger than a pint of cider. Where did you come from?”
“Off a freight train.”
Mr. Briggs leaned his hands on his knees and bent down to get his face on a level with the boy’s.