“Your uncle can spare you,” thrust in Zerah; “and if Jan Pooke is so civil as to invite you to go in his conveyance, it is only proper you should accept.”
“But, aunt,” said Kate, slightly colouring, “my father has settled that I am to go with Uncle Pasco, and I do not like”--
“Oh, so long as you are got to Ashburton, it doesn’t matter who takes you,” interrupted Zerah.
“If it does not matter,” said Kate, “then let me hold to my father’s arrangement.”
“That is not kind to me--I mean to sister Sue,” said Pooke dolefully.
“I intend no unkindness,” answered the girl, “but when my father has made a plan, I do not like to break it even in little matters.”
The young man twirled his hat about, and pulled out the string from the band. He paused, looked ashamed, and said, “You don’t choose to go with me, that is the long and the short of it. Your aunt will excuse you from going with Pasco Pepperill.”
“Do not tease me, Jan,” pleaded Kate, confused and unhappy. She was well aware that there had been village talk about her having been in the boat with Jan, that her aunt was desirous of thrusting her upon him. With maidenly reserve she shrank from his proposal, lest by riding in the trap with him some colour might be given to the suspicions entertained in the village, and some food should be supplied to the gossips.
The lad went to the window, and looked out on the little platform with moody eyes.
“Why,” said he, “there is that new schoolmaster there.” He stood watching him. “He’s a noodle. What do’y think he is about? He has got three or four faded buttercups, and he is putting them between the leaves of his note-book, just as though there was something wonderful in them; just as if they were the rarest flowers in the world. I always thought he was a fool--now I know it.”