This was Neal in a new light. Edith was astonished. She had supposed that he was only a rollicking boy, too lazy to amount to anything, and too fond of a joke to think of the more serious side of life.
She hesitated. She was very angry with him. Of course he had no business to speak to her on this subject, but he was evidently sorry. His brown eyes looked very repentant, and there was not a shadow of a smile in them.
"Come now, Edith," he urged, "do it up handsomely, and forgive and forget. Give me your hand on it."
THEN THEY STARTED HOME, CARRYING THE CUSHIONS BETWEEN THEM.
And Edith did so, and with difficulty repressed a shriek at the hearty squeeze that was given it. And just as they had reached this point in their conversation there was a sudden crash. Off went the wheel, and down went buggy, Edith, and Neal in a heap.
Fortunately the horse stood still. They were in the depths of the wood, two miles from any house. A few startled birds fluttered among the trees, and a gray squirrel paused in his day's work to view the scene.
Neal and Edith crawled out from the débris.
"Here's a pretty how-d'y' do," said Neal, surveying the wreck. "Edith, I greatly fear you'll never drive in that buggy again."
He unhitched the horse, and then removed the remnants of the vehicle to the side of what road there was, and partially hid them in the bushes.