Then he alighted and climbed into Phyllis's buggy, and the next moment they were rolling smoothly along in the direction of Deep Willows.
Phyllis leaned back in her seat and dropped her hands in her lap. The horse was pleasantly ambling along a trail it was used to.
She looked round with a half humorous smile.
"Of course. Say, I forgot you belonged to the—enemy, Frank," she said. "I just forgot everything, but that you were coming to see Monica. You said in your letter you'd got to get right here in your—work. It seems queer. I—say, Frank, I just can't fix you as an—enemy," she cried, in a tone of raillery.
The man's eyes were on the two, small, gloved hands in her lap.
"I'm—not an enemy, Phyl," he said, in a low tone.
"Aren't you?" She laughed. "I suppose it's just friendship to us all to come along, just around harvest, and tell the boys to quit work, so as to make us poor farmers lose our crops, and keep the boys who work the harvest from making a great stake for the winter. You see, we've had men around these weeks and weeks, telling the boys that way. They're men belonging to Leyburn, same as you do."
Frank looked up with hot eyes.
"I don't belong to Leyburn," he cried. "I belong to no man but myself, and my—my convictions."
His sudden heat sobered the girl at his side. She seemed to be reduced to penitence.