"Suppos'n you keep eyes off her, then," said he struggling. "It's a poor rule that don't work both ways."
"What have you been about?" said Sam,—"come, own up for once—just to try how it feels."
"What have you?" said Phil. "I aint up to half as many shines as you,
Sam Stoutenburgh."
"I should think not!" said Sam disdainfully.
"O let him alone, Sam!" said Reuben—"what's the use?"
"Little enough use—" said Sam, "or matter either,—everybody knows Phil Davids. Pity he wouldn't make his own acquaintance!" And releasing his prisoner Sam turned disdainfully and Reuben sorrowfully towards the house. But Reuben did not go very near. A wistful look or two towards the lighted front and the clustering guests, and he paused, leaving Sam to go on alone.
Sam's bashfulness was happily not of the uncompromising kind, therefore he not only found Faith, but she found him—ready to claim her promise—the very moment she was ready to go.
"But I don't know whether the wagon is here, Sam," said Faith. Other wagons were come, and driving off, and a little procession of colours was setting forth on foot, up and down the street from Judge Harrison's. The hall was full of people, getting hoods on and taking leave.
"Well, Miss Faith," said Sam, "we can walk to where it ought to be, and if it isn't there maybe you'll let me go further."
"But I can't go without seeing my mother, Sam, and I don't know where she is."