on burned her
consciousness.

The next morning she found that her journey had been carefully arranged.
Thatcher had come and gone. The responsibility for her further progress
had been shifted to the shoulders of a teamster, whose bearded face,
except for the immense humor and gallantry of his gray eyes, was
startlingly like one of Albrecht Duerer's apostles. Her bundle was in his
wagon, half of his front seat was cushioned for her. After breakfast she
was again escorted down the board walk to the gate. Mrs. Lander fastened
a huge bunch of sweet peas to her coat and kissed her cheek. Sheila bade
innumerable good-byes, expressed innumerable thanks. For Hilliard's
absence Rusty offered its apologies. They said that he had been much
entertained and, after the hurt he had suffered to his wrist, late sleep
was a necessity. Sheila understood. The bowl of reparation had been
emptied to its last atoning dregs. She mounted to the side of "Saint
Mark," she bowed and smiled, made promises, gave thanks again, and waved
herself out of Rusty at last. She had never felt so flattered and so
warmed at heart.

"I'm agoin'," quoth Saint Mark, "right clost to Miss Blake's. If we don't
overtake her--and that hoss of hers sure travels wonderful fast,
somethin' wonderful, yes, ma'am, by God--excuse me, lady--it's sure
surprisin' the way that skinny little hoss of hers will travel--why, I
c'n take you acrost the ford. There ain't no way of gettin' into Miss
Blake's exceptin' by the ford. And then I c'n take my team back to the
road. From the ford it's a quarter-mile walk to Miss Blake's house. You
c'n cache your bundle and she'll likely get it for you in the mornin'.
We had ought to be there by sundown. Her trail from the ford's clear
enough. I'm a-takin' this lumber to the Gover'ment bridge forty mile up.
Yes, by God--excuse _me_, lady--it's agoin' to be jest a dandy bridge
until the river takes it out next spring, by God--you'll have to excuse
me again, lady."

He seemed rather mournfully surprised by the frequent need for these
apologies. "It was my raisin', lady," he explained. "My father was a
Methody preacher. Yes'm, he sure was, by God, yes--excuse me again, lady.
He was always a-prayin'. It kinder got me into bad habits. Yes, ma'am.
Those words you learn when you're a kid they do stick in your mind. By
God, yes, they do--excuse _me_, lady. That's why I run away. I couldn't
stand so much prayin' all the time. And bein' licked when I w