Lucy did not move. She watched him hesitate, waver, then dismount and come back through the dust. 182
“If you’re on your way home——” he began with clumsy gravity.
The girl smiled up into his face.
“If you’re goin’ back——” he repeated, and again got no further.
She came to his rescue.
“Have you room to take me in?”
“There ain’t much room.” She saw the flicker of a smile shadow his face. “Still, if you don’t mind bein’ a mite cramped——”
“I don’t mind it at all unless it crowds you too much,” answered Lucy. “It is very kind of you.” Then she heard herself add without forethought: “I was afraid you were goin’ by.”
“I ain’t that much of a heathen, I hope,” Martin returned gruffly.
Although it was plain he was ill at ease, he helped her into the wagon, arranging the bags of meal solicitously that she might be as comfortable as possible. Then he touched the horse with his whip, and they started off.