“I saw Annie over at the Basin. She wants to go home to her folks to-morrow. Would you like to drive her over? She spoke of it.”
“And stay till Monday?” said Jack, to whom this would indeed have been good news at another time.
“Yes; start early, and get back Monday morning in time for her to begin school. Then she won’t go home again till her summer term is out.”
“Maybe—I’d better—wait and go then.” Jack felt the importance of early securing his treasure, and, having set apart Sunday afternoon for that task (“a deed of necessity,” he called it to his conscience), he saw no way but to postpone the long-anticipated happiness of a ride and visit with his dear friend. Yet what if the treasure were no treasure?
“As you please,” said the deacon, a little surprised at Jack’s choice. “Moses will be glad enough to go. See that she has plenty of hay in the rack, and don’t tie the halter so short as you do sometimes. Now give me a push here,”—taking up the buggy-shafts.
“Oh!” said Jack, as if he had just thought of something,—“I was going to ask you—about that half-dollar?”
“I didn’t think on ’t,” said Mr. Chatford, standing and holding the shafts while Jack went behind,—“not till I’d got started for home. Then I put my hand in my pocket for something, and found your half-dollar. Help me in with the buggy, and then I’ll tell you.”
The deacon drew in the shafts, Jack pushed behind, and the buggy went rattling and bounding up into its place.
“Did you go back?” asked Jack, out of breath,—not altogether from the effort he had just made.
The deacon deliberately walked out of the barn, and carefully shut and fastened the door; then, while on the way to the house, he explained.