“Why, Seth,” she cried, in a tone of great pity and alarm that deceived even Rube, “what’s the matter that you look so ill?” She turned swiftly and flashed a meaning look into Rube’s eyes. “What is it? Quick! Oh, you two sillies, tell me! Seth, you’ve been ill, and you never told me!”
Slow of wit, utterly devoid of subterfuge as Rube was, for once he grasped the situation.
“Why, gal, it’s jest nothin’. Seth’s been mighty 233 sick, but he’s right enough now, ain’t you, Seth, boy?”
“Sure.”
Seth had nothing to add, but he held out his hand, and the girl seized it in both of hers, while her eyes darkened to an expression which these men failed to interpret, but which Ma Sampson could have read aright. Seth cleared his throat, and his dark eyes gazed beyond the girl and down the trail.
“How’d you come, Rosie?” he asked practically. “You ain’t traipsed from Beacon?”
Suddenly the girl’s laugh rang out. It was the old irresponsible laugh that had always been the joy of these men’s hearts, and it brought a responsive smile to their faces now.
“Oh, I forgot,” she cried. “The delight of seeing you two dears put it out of my silly head. Why, we drove out from Beacon, and the wagon’s stuck in a hollow away back, and my cousin, I call her ’aunt,’ and her maid, and all the luggage are mired on the road, calling down I don’t know what terrible curses upon the country and its people, and our teamster in particular. So I just left them to it and came right on to get help. Auntie was horrified at my going, you know. Said I’d get rheumatic fever and pneumonia, and threatened to take me back home if I went, and I told her she couldn’t unless I got help to move the wagon, and so here I am.”
Rube’s great face had never ceased to beam, and now, as the girl paused for breath, he turned for home. 234
“Guess I’ll jest get the team out. Gee!” And he went off at a great gait.