"You must ride with Waldo; I am going to drive your cousin home."
"But I can't come just now, Greg; I promised Tant Annie Muller to look
after the things while she went to rest a little."
"Well, you can come presently, can't you? I didn't say you were to come
now. I'm sick of this thing," said Gregory, turning sharply on his heel.
"Why must I sit up the whole night because your stepmother chooses to get
married?"
"Oh, it's all right, Greg, I only meant--"
But he did not hear her, and a man had come up to have his cup filled.
An hour after Waldo came in to look for her, and found her still busy at
the table.
"The horses are ready," he said; "but if you would like to have one dance
more I will wait."
She shook her head wearily.
"No; I am quite ready. I want to go."
And soon they were on the sandy road the buggy had travelled an hour
before. Their horses, with heads close together, nodding sleepily as they
walked in the starlight, you might have counted the rise and fall of their
feet in the sand; and Waldo in his saddle nodded drowsily also. Only Em
was awake, and watched the starlit road with wide-open eyes. At last she
spoke.
"I wonder if all people feel so old, so very old, when they get to be
seventeen?"
"Not older than before," said Waldo sleepily, pulling at his bridle.
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