She smiled foolishly in saying them over.
Cart and song had come to a halt. Flea put her eye to a crevice in the cover. It was Miss Em'ly on horseback, a mounted groom leading a third horse. Dick pulled off his whity-brown wool hat, and scraped his foot.
"Howdy, Uncle Dick!" called the sweet, shrill voice. "Have you seen Mr. Tayloe anywhere?"
"Naw, my mistis, I 'ain' see him nowhar. Is you los' him? I moughty sorry."
His eyes twinkled, and Miss Em'ly snapped her whip at him, blushing and laughing.
"Shut your mouth, Uncle Dick! He was to go riding with me, and he isn't at the school-house. If you should see him, tell him I couldn't wait for him. Good-by."
She gave her horse a smart cut and galloped down the road.
"He is looking for me all this time!" thought Flea, fearfully. Her teeth chattered, and she pulled a blanket up over her.
Another adventure was in store for her at the next turn of the highway. Mr. Tayloe stepped out of the edge of the woods and hailed Dick. Flea could have thought his eye met hers as she peeped through the hole in the cover. He stood within six feet of the cart. His hat was the only dry thing he had on. His blue coat, buff waistcoat, and gray trousers were discolored and streaked with wet. "Beggars' ticks" and "Spanish needles," sticking to his clothes, told of a tramp through marsh and field. He looked cross and ugly and fierce.
"Aren't you Grigsby's man?" he asked, harshly.