"You're an obstinate girl, Diantha."
The girl laughed merrily, now that she had diverted the attention of her irascible brother to herself, for he had packed away even the despised salt, and was putting in the tent poles and tents on top of the other bulky but light loading, while they were talking.
"Come, Rachel, we're all done. What are you laughing about?" sang out the Bishop. "Are you ready to start?"
His wife emerged from the house, all smiles, and with a cup of cool buttermilk to refresh the weary husband, who had dealt so generously with her packing arrangements.
"Thank you, Dian," she said softly, as the girl hurried into the house to complete her own preparations.
It was in the early afternoon of that day, when a double team—the wagon fitted with bows, but the cover folded in the bottom of the wagon box—drew up to the Winthrop house with great dash and clatter. Four good spring seats rattled emptily as the driver threw on his brake and gave a loud "Hello" to the people inside.
The front door opened and Bishop Winthrop came out.
"Dian will be ready in a moment, John. I am glad she is going with you, for I know you'll take good care of her."
"Just as good as she'll let me," the young man smiled down at his friend.
"Oh, Dianthy's all right, only she's a little high-spirited. Give her plenty of time, John; you can afford to wait," said the elder man, in confidential tones.