Meanwhile, Yates, as has been said, took off his hat with great politeness to the fair pedestrian, and as he did so he noticed, with a thrill of admiration, that she was very handsome. Yates always had an eye for the beautiful.
“Our conveyance,” he began, “is not as comfortable as it might be, yet I shall be very happy if you will accept its hospitalities.”
The young woman flashed a brief glance at him from her dark eyes, and for a moment Yates feared that his language had been rather too choice for her rural understanding, but before he could amend his phrase she answered briefly:
“Thank you. I prefer to walk.”
“Well, I don’t know that I blame you. May I ask if you have come all the way from the village?”
“Yes.”
“That is a long distance, and you must be very tired.” There was no reply; so Yates continued. “At least, I thought it a long distance; but perhaps that was because I was riding on Bartlett’s hay rack. There is no ‘downy bed of ease’ about his vehicle.”
As he spoke of the wagon he looked at it, and, striding forward to its side, said in a husky whisper to the professor:
“Say, Stilly, cover up that jug with a flap of the tent.”
“Cover it up yourself,” briefly replied the other; “it isn’t mine.”