“Poor Dick! He's in for a hard time,” replied Barney. “But nothing can change Dick. And I am awful glad he's coming to-day, in time for the raising, too.”
“The raising? Oh, yes. The McLeods'. Yes, I remember. And,” regretfully, “a big supper and a big spree afterwards in the new barn.”
“Are not you going?” inquired Barney.
“I don't know. They want me to go to help, but I don't think I'll go. I don't think father would like me to go, and,”—a pause—“anyway, I don't think I can get away.”
“Oh, pshaw! Get Old Nancy in. She can take care of the children for once. You would like the raising. It's great fun.”
“Oh! wouldn't I, though? It's fine to see them racing. They get so wild and yell so.”
“Well, come on then. You must come. They'll all be disappointed, if you don't. And Dick is coming that way, too. Alec Murray is to bring him on his way home from town.” Again Barney glanced keenly at her face, but he saw only puzzled uncertainty there.
“Well, I don't know. We'll see. At any rate, I must go now.”
“Wait,” cried Barney, “I'll go with you. We're having dinner early to-day.” He hung up the scythe in the thorn tree and threw the stone at the foot.
“I wish you would promise to come,” he said earnestly.