“I shall bear you safely ashore, Tavia—no fear,” he grunted. “Whew! You’ve been putting on flesh, I declare, since New Year’s,” he added.
“Pounds and pounds,” she assured him. “Now, up the bank, little boy.”
Dorothy was already deposited in safety and her cousins were taking their turns in “saluting her on both cheeks;” but when Bob tried to take toll from Tavia in that way she backed off, threatening him with an upraised hand.
“You are no cousin—make no mistake on that point, sir,” she declared.
“Huh! I ought to have some reward for saving you from a watery grave,” said Bob, sheepishly.
“Charge it, please,” lisped Tavia. “There are some debts I never propose to pay till I get ready.”
But she, like Dorothy, was unfeignedly glad to see the three young men again. While they chattered with Ned, and Nat, and Bob, the red-haired young man got his oxen and the cart out of the river and guided the animals back toward the hill.
There came on a dog-trot from the scene of the excavating operations a fat, puffy man, who snatched the whip out of redhead’s hand and proceeded to administer a tongue lashing, part of which the girls and their companions overheard.
“Oh! he doesn’t deserve that,” said Dorothy, mildly. “It wasn’t his fault.”
“He shouldn’t have left us alone in the cart,” pouted Tavia. “That’s Mr. Simpson, one of father’s foremen. Let him be. A scolding never killed anybody yet—otherwise, how would I have survived Olaine this term?”