"Peter! Oh, Peter Cartwright!" she called. "Wait—stop a minute. To think of your going by right at the very minute that we were a-talking about you!"
She went out under the trees where the square-built, stern-faced, swarthy young preacher had brought his horse to a standstill.
"Now, Peter, you surely ain't a-going up to the court-house to see
Andrew Jackson," she said in sudden alarm.
"No, no, not now," said Peter, hurriedly. "I am riding fast to keep an appointment to preach on the other side of the river."
"But you can stop long enough to eat breakfast. I lay you haven't had a bite this blessed day."
Peter shook his head, gathering up the reins.
"And ten to one that you haven't got a cent of money!" Miss Penelope accused him.
Peter's grim young face relaxed in a faint smile. He put his hand in his pocket and drew out two small pieces of silver.
"Ah, ha, I knew it!" exulted Miss Penelope. "Now do wait just one minute till I run in the house and get you some money."
"No, no, there isn't time. I'll miss my appointment to preach. I will get along somehow. Thank you—good-by."