Peter's face suddenly darkened. He drew his mouth into a straight line, and looked sullenly down at the harness. "Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am," he mumbled, "I don't think—that is——" He scowled defiance at Joe, who grinned back appreciatively. "If it's just the same to ye, ma'am, I'd like to drive the waggonette an' let Joe fetch the lunch. If I'm to be coachman, ma'am, I'd sort o' like to get used to me dooties before he goes."
Mrs. Carter was frankly puzzled; she could not imagine what had suddenly got into her servants this morning. A lady who has a grown daughter, of some attractions and many admirers, to chaperone, cannot be expected to keep au courant of her servants' love affairs.
"You have had a month in which to get used to your duties while Joe was in the hospital; that is sufficient for the present. Joe will drive the waggonette and you will follow with the supper—I wish you to help Tom put new netting in the screen-doors this afternoon."
Her tone precluded argument. As soon as she was out of hearing, Joe remarked softly, "Now, if she'd only said Mary instead of Annie I 'spose——"
"Aw, let up," Peter growled, and he fell to rubbing in the grease with unnecessary vehemence. His misunderstanding with Annie was a subject he would stand no fooling about, even from his chief.
At five o'clock, Peter, in a spotless top-hat and shining boots, looking as stiff as if he were clothed in steel armour, drew up before the kitchen door and piled the hampers and pails he found on the back veranda onto the seat beside him. He climbed to the box again with an air of finality, and gathering his reins together made a feint of starting.
"Peter!" Nora called from the kitchen window. "Where is it ye're goin'? Wait for Annie."
"Annie?" Peter looked as if he had never heard the name before.
"Yes, Annie. Did ye think ye was to cook the supper yerself?"