Faith was silent; eying the snowy road and the jingling horse heads, with a bounding feeling of heart that she was going home. She dared allow it to herself now.
"What do you guess made the doctor leave that fly-away horse of his for Mr. Linden to tame?" said the Squire. "Has he any particular reason for wishing to break his neck?"
"Did he do that?"
"Break his neck?—why no, not yet,—I suppose the doctor lives in hopes. You take it coolly, Miss Faith! upon my word."
"Mr. Stoutenburgh!—I meant, did he leave the horse for him. Dr.
Harrison knew there wasn't much danger, Mr. Stoutenburgh."
Mr. Stoutenburgh touched up his own team.
"I guess!"—he said slowly, "the doctor don't just know how much danger there is. So Pattaquasset 'll have a chance to come down on both feet—which that horse don't do often. We've had all sorts of goings on, Miss Faith."
"Have you, sir?" The question was put quietly enough, but there was a little tinge of curiosity, too.
"Yes," said the Squire, shaking his whip. "Sam Deacon's gone away and
Mr. Linden's grown unpopular. Aint that news?"
"What do you mean, sir?"