"Do you like dogs?" he queried.
"I love them. You know, these are the first I have ever seen of this kind."
"Then you never rode behind a team?"
"No. I have only read about such things."
McGill summoned his courage and said, "Mebbe you'd like me to—give you a ride?"
"Would you? Oh, Mr. McGill!" She clapped her hands, and her eyes widened at the prospect.
He noted how the brisk air had brought the blood to her cheeks, but broke off the dangerous contemplation of her charms and fell to harnessing the team, his fingers stiff with embarrassment. He helped her into the basket-sled and then, at her request, tucked in the folds of her coat. It was a novel sensation and one he had never dreamed of having, for he would not have dared touch any woman without a command.
It was not much of a ride, for the trails were poor, but the girl seemed to enjoy it, and to McGill it was wonderful. He felt that he was making an awful spectacle of himself, however, and hoped no one had seen them leave; he was so big and so ungainly to be playing squire, and, above all, he was so old.
He could think of nothing to say on the excursion, but when she thanked him upon their return he was more than paid for his misery. As they drove up, Barclay was watching them from the high bank, and Miss Andrews waved a mitten at him. Later, when McGill had left for a moment, the young man began, sourly:
"Making a play for the old party, eh?"