XVI
FLOYD drove on to the bush-arbor and helped Cynthia into the buggy.
“Was that Pole Baker talking to you?” she questioned.
“Yes, he wanted to speak to me,” said Floyd, seriously. “He unhitched my horse and turned him around.”
“I suppose he is making resolutions to reform?”
Floyd shrugged his shoulders unconsciously. “Yes, he's always doing that sort of thing. He's afraid there may be a storm, too. He's the best weather prophet I know. If the cloud were behind us I shouldn't be concerned at all, for Jack could outrun it.”
They were driving into a lonely, shaded part of the road, and there they noticed more plainly the darkness that had rapidly fallen over the landscape. Cynthia shivered, and Floyd tried to see the expression of her face, but she was looking down and he was unable to do so.
“Are you really afraid?” he asked.