"Here she is, Miss; can you ride on that saddle?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. I—I—suppose so; but how are you to get there?"
"Walk," he answered concisely.
"Why, how far is it?"
"About five miles—straight across."
"Can we go straight across?"
"No."
She looked up at him and laughed, half vexed.
"Mr. Genesee Jack," she remarked, "you can be one of the most aggravatingly non-committal men I ever met. It has grown as dark as a stack of black cats, and I know we must have an ugly trip to make with only one horse between us. Do you suppose I have no natural curiosity as to how we are to get there, and when? Don't be such a lock-and-key individual. I can't believe it is natural to you. It is an acquired habit, and hides your real self often."
"And a good thing it does, I reckon," he returned; "locks and keys are good things to have, Miss; don't quarrel with mine or my ways to-night; wait till I leave you safe with your folks, then you can find fault or laugh, whichever you please. It won't matter then."