“Oh, that will be so good. Are you really to go?”
“Certainly I am to go, and you are to go with me. Now give me that shovel.”
“There’s nothing more to do with it just now.”
“What a pity there are not two wheelbarrows. I will go back with you and get another.”
“You forget your clothes,” I said, looking at his neat suit of broadcloth.
“Gravel is clean; it will all brush off;” and we started, each grasping a handle of the wheelbarrow and keeping step over the green sward.
With an amused look, Mrs. Harlan eyed us as we came up.
“Two boys work faster than one,” she said, as Harry scattered the gravel and I smoothed it.
“Two more loads will be enough, wont they, Mrs. Harlan?” asked Harry; and being answered in the affirmative, away he went to the wood-shed, and returned with a heavier wheelbarrow for himself.
“Not that, Harry; you are not accustomed to it. If you insist on going, you must take this.” With a few playful words we exchanged wheelbarrows, while Mrs. Harlan looked after us as we trundled down the path at a brisk pace.