"Bet you can't!"
Nancy sprang to her feet.
"Let's race from—here—to that big elm way down there." She indicated with her finger a giant elm in the "ten-acre strip."
"How you goin' to get over that stone fence?" And Davy pointed out the low stretch of stones that marked the dividing line between the orchard and the ten-acre strip.
"Oh, that! That's easy!"
Plainly Davy's respect was growing. He danced first on one foot and then on the other. "You are a sport. If you can beat I'll let you join the club. I'll count! One—two—three!"
They were off over the stubby grass. Nancy, longer-limbed, caught the lead. She vaulted the fence with agile ease. But Davy soon caught up to her and in the last few yards passed her. Laughing, breathless, Nancy reached the tree and clung to it.
"Hurray," came from behind them.
There, approaching them, was the "hired man." He had seemingly sprung from nowhere.
Flushed and disheveled by the race, an intruder on the enemy's own ground, Nancy was at a disarming disadvantage. Besides, Davy greeted the newcomer rapturously.