"Yes, and there's the change." Harriet put down the package and dropped some pieces of silver into a goblet on the table.
"What's the matter?" Mrs. Floyd was kneading dough in a great wooden tray, and she looked at Harriet over her shoulder.
"Nothing."
"I know there is." Mrs. Floyd turned and began rubbing the dough from her fingers as a woman puts on a kid glove.
"Mr. Westerfelt has asked me to drive with him after dinner," said the girl. "That's all."
"Harriet!" Mrs. Floyd's eyes sparkled with excitement as she sprinkled some flour over her dough and began to roll the mass back and forth. "I reckon you will acknowledge now that I know something about young men. If you had refused to go with Bascom Bates yesterday, Mr. Westerfelt would have had no respect for you; as it is, he couldn't wait twenty-four hours to see you. For all you do, don't let him see too plain that you care for him. Mind what I say!"
Westerfelt was impatient for two o'clock to arrive. It was one when he left Bradley's after dinner. He went to the stable and ordered Jake to get out his horse and buggy. He would call for her at once; he could not wait any longer. He felt a sort of sinking sensation at his heart as Jake gave him the whip and reins, and he was actually trembling when he stopped at the hotel. Harriet came out on the veranda above and told him she would be down at once. She did not keep him waiting long, and when she came down, prettily flushed and neatly attired, his heart bounded and his pulse quickened. Had she been a queen he could not have felt more respect for her than he did as he stood shielding her skirt from the wheels and helped her get seated. He was just about to get in himself when an old man came down the sidewalk from Worthy's store, headed for the buggy. It was old John Wambush with a basket of eggs on his arm.
"Howdy' do," he said, nodding to them both. "Miss Harriet, is yore ma needin' any more eggs now? I diskivered another nest this mornin', an' 'lowed she mought be able to use 'em. She's about the only one in the place 'at ever has cash to pay fer produce."
"I don't know, Mr. Wambush," Harriet replied, politely. "She is in the house; you might go in and see her."
The old man shifted his basket to his other arm and hesitated. Westerfelt got into the buggy and took up the reins.