“Not my motor!” Joe exclaimed defiantly. “I paid sixty dollars fer it secondhand and I hain’t lettin’ no female ruin it.”
“Ye can’t expect me to blister my hands rowin’ all day,” the widow replied. “We aim to make a quick trip.”
“Ye can’t use the motor in all them hyacinths!”
“Maybe not, but it’ll take us through the open spots a heap faster. The motor, Joe.”
Grumbling loudly, the guide went to the house once more. He came back with the motor which he attached and started for the widow.
“Thank ye kindly, Joe,” she grinned at him as the boat pulled away from the dock. “I’ll make ye one of my apple pies when I git back.”
“If ye get back,” the guide corrected morosely.
Propelled by the motor, the skiff sped steadily through the channel and came presently to the Hawkins’ farm. The popping of the engine, which could be heard some distance, drew Mrs. Hawkins to the dock.
She signaled the boat as it drew near.
“Howdy,” the Widow Jones greeted her politely though with no warmth. She throttled down the engine and drifted in toward shore.