Lucas, that Adam's apple going up and down again like the slide on a trombone.
"You are going home without much of a load; aren't you, Mr. Pritchett?" pursued Lyddy, with a glance into the empty wagon-body.
"Ya-as--I be," repeated Lucas, with another gulp, trying to look at both girls at once and succeeding only in looking cross-eyed.
"We are going to be your nearest neighbors, Mr. Pritchett," said Lyddy, briskly. "Our aunt, Mrs. Hammond, has loaned us Hillcrest to live in and we have our baggage and some other things at the railway station to be carted up to the house. Will you take it--and us? And how much will you charge?"
Lucas just gasped--'Phemie declared afterward, "like a dying fish." This was altogether too much for Lucas to grasp at once; but he had followed Lyddy up to a certain point. He held forth a broad, grimed, calloused palm, and faintly exclaimed:
"You're Mis' Hammon's nieces? Do tell! Maw'll be pleased to see ye--an' so'll Sairy."
He shook hands solemnly with Lyddy and then with 'Phemie, who flashed him but a single glance from her laughing eyes. The "Italian sunset effect," as 'Phemie dubbed Lucas's blushes, began to fade out of his countenance.
"Can you take us home with you?" asked Lyddy, impatient to settle the matter.
"I surely can," exclaimed Lucas. "You hop right in."
"No. We want to know what you will charge first--for us and the things at the depôt?"
"Not a big load; air they?" queried Lucas, doubtfully. "You know the hill's some steep."
Lyddy enumerated the packages, Lucas checking them off with nods.
"I see," he said. "We kin take 'em all. You hop in----"
But 'Phemie was pulling the skirt of her sister's jacket and Lyddy said:
"No. We have some errands to do. We'll meet you up the street. That is your way home?" and she indicated the far end of Market Street.
"Ya-as."
"And what will you charge us?"
"Not more'n a dollar, Miss," he said, grinning. "I wouldn't ax ye nothin'; but this is dad's team and when I git a job like this he allus expects his halvings."
"All right, Mr. Pritchett. We'll pay you a dollar," agreed Lyddy, in her sedate way. "And we'll meet you up the street."
Lucas unhitched the ponies and stepped into the wagon. When he turned them and gave them their heads the ragged little beasts showed that they were a good deal like the proverbial singed cat--far better than they looked.
"I thought you didn't care what people thought of you here?" observed Lyddy to her sister, as the wagon went rattling down the street. "Yet it seems you don't wish to ride through Bridleburg in Mr. Pritchett's wagon."
"My goodness!" gasped 'Phemie, breathless from giggling. "I don't mind the wagon. But _he's_ a freak, Lyd!"
"Sh!"
"Did you ever see such a face? And those freckles!" went on the girl, heedless of her sister's admonishing 

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