Then they laughed gaily, as the boy said, "I wasn't very--very courteous."
"Now that's pretty, John. Good gracious, Billy!" she cried, punching the broad back of the driver. "Are you asleep? You are all over the road."
"Oh! I was thinkin' how Pole, the butcher, sold the Squire a horse that's spavined--got it sent back--funny, wasn't it?"
"Look out," said Leila, "you will upset us."
John looked the uneasiness he felt, as he said, "Do you think it is safe?"
"No, I don't. Drive on, Billy, but do be careful."
They came to the little village of Westways. At intervals Billy communicated bits of village gossip. "Susan McKnight, she's going to marry Finney--"
"Bother Susan," cried Leila. "Be careful."
John alarmed held on to his seat as the sleigh rocked about, while Billy whipped up the mare.
"This is Westways, our village. It is just a row of houses. Uncle James won't sell land on our side. Look out, Billy! Our rector lives in that small house by the church. His name is Mark Rivers. You'll like him. That's Mr. Grace, the Baptist preacher." She bade him good-day. "Stop, Billy!"
He pulled up at the sidewalk. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Crocker," she said, as the postmistress came out to the sleigh. "Please mail this. Any letters for us?"
"No, Leila." She glanced at the curly locks above the thin face and the wrapped up form in the shawl. "Got a nice little girl with you, Leila."
John indignant said nothing. "This is a boy--my cousin, John Penhallow," returned Leila.
"Get on," cried Leila. "Stop at Josiah's."
Here a tall, strongly built, very black negro came out. "Fine frosty day, missy."
"Come up to the house to-night. Uncle Jim wants you."
The black was strange to the boy. He thought the lower orders here disrespectful.
"Josiah's our barber," said Leila. "He saved me once from a dreadful accident. You'll like him."
"Will I?" thought John, but merely remarked, "They all seem rather intimate."
"Why not?" said the young Republican. "Ah! here's the gate. I'll get out and open it. It's the best gate to swing on in the whole place."
As she tossed the furs aside, John gasped, "To swing on--"
"Oh, yes. Aunt Ann says I am too old to swing on gates, but I do. It shuts with a bang. I'll show you some day."