“I’m pretty clean,” said Billy, looking down at himself. He was a slender, lightly built little fellow, with an elf-like face—with small features, and very bright brown eyes. Like his sisters’, his hair curled, but his was inclined to be red. Billy despised boys with curly hair, and would have had his shorn almost to the skin, had his mother permitted. “Do I need to put on another coat, Mother?”
“Certainly you need, my son. You’ll find a clean holland coat on your bed.”
“Hurry up, old man,” said his father. The injunction was lost on Billy. He dashed from the room, pounded down the hall, and returned in an astonishingly short space of time, spruce and merry. His father was already in the buggy. Billy dropped a hurried kiss on top of his mother’s head, and raced out to join him.
They drove in a high express-waggon, which had ample room behind for luggage: the two-wheeled “jinker,” or Mrs. Weston’s light hooded buggy, were no use when girls with trunks and suit-cases had to be brought home. A heavy pair of iron-grey horses bowled them along at a good round pace. They were horses accustomed to any sort of work: singly or together they went in the buggy, the plough, the cart; they might draw a disc-harrow to-day, and take a turn at rounding up cattle to-morrow. They were splendidly matched, and though just now they were in poor condition, they held themselves as proudly as thoroughbreds, as they trotted along. John Weston had bred them himself, and he loved the gentle, honest animals. His face was gloomy now as he watched them. All the district knew the big greys, and lately he had had a good offer for them. It was the kind of offer he would have laughed at a year ago. But now—money had become a big thing: Prince and Captain might have to go.
“May I drive, Father?”
Billy’s voice brought him out of a reverie.
“All right, Son.” He gave the reins into the eager brown hands, and made him hold them correctly, watching him as they spun along. Billy took them successfully over a rather narrow culvert, kept a wary eye upon a noisy motor-van, which did not trouble the greys at all, and presently dodged between a timber-waggon and a farm-cart in a way that brought a gruff word of praise to his father’s lips. This brought upon Billy the pride that goes before destruction, and in an effort to show how near he could drive to a hawker’s van he very nearly removed its wheel—bringing upon them the wrath of the hawker, with shouted inquiries as to whether they desired to retain the whole of the road. Somewhat chastened in spirit, Billy drove with great care, and gave other traffic a wide berth: so that they arrived in the township without further misadventure.
It was sale-day, and the little town was busy. Farmers’ buggies and motors thronged the streets; the shops were crowded with the cheery, brown-faced country women, who knew precisely what they wanted to buy, and were not to be deceived by the most tempting “bargain-lines” displayed at “alarming sacrifices” by the drapers. Little boys, in little tweed suits, and little girls, with well-frizzed hair, accompanied their mothers; while babies were as the sands of the sea in number. The fences surrounding the sale-yards were black with men; more sellers than buyers, for there were few men in the district with grass left for their stock. There were many hearty greetings for John Weston as he drove up the street.
“Getting the girls back, John?”
“Yes. And you’re in to meet Tom, I suppose?”