He hurried away. Esther heard her name spoken and turned to find that young Doane and Frank Cahoon and their unknown companion had approached from the rear and were standing by the carriage.
“Hello, Esther,” hailed Cahoon. “You’ve got a grandstand seat, haven’t you? How does it seem to be up in the world? Speak to common folks nowadays, do you?”
She colored. This was the sort of thing she had expected from her school friends, but she did not like it any better on that account.
“Don’t be silly, Frank,” she said. “What are you doing down here in Harniss? I thought you were in Boston.”
“Not yet. Start to-morrow. I wasn’t going to miss this horse trot for anybody’s old ships. Bangs and Company will have to wait for me, that’s all.”
She shook her head. “They must be dreadfully disappointed,” she said, solemnly.
Doane burst into a laugh. “I guess that will do you for to-day, Frank,” he crowed. “Oh, Esther, here is a fellow you ought to know—Bob Griffin, from Denboro.”
Bob and Esther shook hands. He was a pleasant-faced young chap, tall, dark-haired and with a pair of brown eyes with a twinkle in them.
“Bob’s come over to see what a real horse looks like,” explained Doane. “They don’t use much of anything but oxen in Denboro. That’s so, isn’t it, Bob?”
Griffin smiled.