It was an incredibly brief drive, at Mark's rate of speed; and as exciting and blissful as it was brief and dangerous, Patty thought. Did she imagine it, or did Mark help her into the wagon differently from—old Dr. Perry, for instance?
The fresh breeze lifted the gold thread of her curls and gave her cheeks a brighter color, while her breath came fast through her parted lips and her eyes sparkled at the unexpected, unaccustomed pleasure. She felt so grown up, so conscious of a new power as she sat enthroned on the little wagon seat (Mark Wilson always liked his buggies “courtin' size” so the neighbors said), that she was almost courageous enough to agree to make a royal progress through the village; almost, but not quite.
“Come on, let's shake the old tabbies up and start 'em talking, shall we?” Mark suggested. “I'll give you the reins and let Nero have a flick of the whip.”
“No, I'd rather not drive,” she said. “I'd be afraid of this horse, and, anyway, I must get out this very minute; yes, I really must. If you hold Nero I can just slip down between the wheels; you needn't help me.”
Mark alighted notwithstanding her objections, saying gallantly, “I don't miss this pleasure, not by a jugful! Come along! Jump!”
Patty stretched out her hands to be helped, but Mark forestalled her by putting his arms around her and lifting her down. A second of time only was involved, but in that second he held; her close and kissed her warm cheek, her cheek that had never felt the touch of any lips but those of Waitstill. She pulled her sunbonnet over her flaming face, while Mark, with a gay smile of farewell, sprang into the wagon and gave his horse a free rein.
Patty never looked up from the road, but walked faster and faster, her heart beating at breakneck speed. It was a changed world that spun past her; fright, triumph, shame, delight, a gratified vanity swam over her in turn.
A few minutes later she heard once more the rumble of wheels on the road. It was Cephas Cole driving towards her over the brow of Saco Hill. “He'll have seen Mark,” she thought, “but he can't know I've talked and driven with him. Ugh! how stupid and common he looks!” “I heard your father blowin' the supper-horn jest as I come over the bridge,” remarked Cephas, drawing up in the road. “He stood in the door-yard blowin' like Bedlam. I guess you 're late to supper.”
“I'll be home in a few minutes,” said Patty, “I got delayed and am a little behindhand.”
“I'll turn right round if you'll git in and lemme take you back-along a piece; it'll save you a good five minutes,” begged Cephas, abjectly.