“Where—where was I?” murmured Dorothy.
“Never mind, Doro. The man who marries either of us will have to agree to let us live right next door to each other. Isn’t that right?”
“Oh, more than that,” agreed Dorothy. “He’ll have to agree that we shall be together most of the time anyway. But don’t worry. I think seriously of being a she philanthropist, and of course no man will want to marry me then.”
“And I’ll be a—a policewoman—or a doctress,” gasped Tavia. “Either job will drive ’em away.”
“And—Bob—is—coming—to-morrow,” yawned Dorothy, and the next minute was asleep.
Before the boys came, however, Dorothy and Tavia went to see Sarah Ford. And it was on the way back that they had their adventure with the ox-cart. Of course, it was Tavia’s fault; but the young man driving the oxen had such a good-natured smile, and such red hair, and so many freckles——
“No use!” Tavia declared. “I felt just like going up to him on the spot and calling him ‘brother.’ I know the boys must always have called him ‘Bricktop,’ or ‘Reddy’—and I’m Reddy’s brother, sure,” touching her own beautiful ruddy hair. “How I did hate to be called ‘Carrots’ when I went to Miss Ellis’s school, Doro.”
But this isn’t the story of the ox-cart ride. The cart was full of hay—up to the high sides of it. There were a couple of bags of feed, too.
“Oh, I ought to know him,” Tavia assured Dorothy. “He’s working for my father. I remember the old cart. They are digging away the top of Longreach Hill. Say! couldn’t we ride?”
“Of course, Miss,” said the red-headed and good-natured young man. “Whaw, Buck! Back, Bright!” He snapped his long whiplash in front of the noses of the great black steers. They stopped almost instantly, and in a moment Tavia wriggled herself in upon the hay from behind, and gave her hand to Dorothy to help her in, too.