“You may give them their heads now, Joe,” said the girl, decisively.
“In jest a minute, miss.”
“Now. I’m in a hurry.”
But Joe remained stationary. He turned his head and eyed uneasily a window above the porch, murmuring: “Jest a minute, now——”
Miss Farnsworth waited half the designated period, then she said, imperatively: “Joe, be so kind as to let go of those horses.”
Joe pretended to have found something wrong with the bridle of the off horse. Miss Farnsworth watched him skeptically. And an instant later Stuart Jarvis appeared upon the porch, hat in hand, smiling at the driver of the farm wagon.
“May I go with you?” he asked, easily, coming up.
There was no reason why she should refuse, particularly with three middle-aged women, two elderly gentlemen, and four girls observing with interest from the porch. Neither was there good reason for refusing to allow Mr. Jarvis to take the reins, since he leaped up at the right side of the wagon, and held out his hand for them as a matter of course. But the moment they were around the first bend in the road Agnes Farnsworth attempted to adjust affairs to her original intentions.
“Would you mind letting me drive?” she asked. The words, though spoken with a silver tongue, had rather the effect of a notification than of an interrogation.
“Not in the least,” returned Jarvis, making no motion, however, to resign the reins, “provided you can prove that I am authorized to give up my charge.”