take
her in from head to foot. "You needn't be one bit afraid of what that
galoot will say. I tell you I've been about over the country and I know
a thing or two."

"Well, I've got my all on my back," she said--"that is, except my
wedding outfit. I don't know how I'll ever get my money out of it. I've
thought about selling it, but nobody of my size seems to be marrying
round here. Even if _this_ thing is a go--I mean even if me and Mr. Long
_do_ come to terms--I don't believe I'd feel just right in using it. It
would be sort o' like marrying in widow's weeds, wouldn't it?"

They were now passing Farmer Wade's house, on the edge of the village,
and they saw Carrie on the veranda-steps with Johnny Cartwright at her
side. The couple stood close together, and Henley saw that the boy was
holding Carrie's hands and gazing at her ardently. Seeing the passing
buggy, Carrie suddenly drew herself back and stared at them curiously.
There was no salutation from either side, and Henley drove on, noting
that Dixie kept her eyes on the pair till they were out of sight.

"I thought I'd give her a good, straight look," she said, "so she'd see
that I wasn't doing anything I am ashamed of. I know that girl through
and through, and you mark my words, Alfred, she'll be low enough to
throw out hints about me driving with a young, married man like you. The
way she's acting with that poor silly boy is disgusting. His poor old
mother is so upset she's talking to everybody about it. She is afraid
Carrie will actually run off with him, and Carrie will, too, if she gets
a good chance--she's just that desperate. It's funny how mean, spiteful
folks can make other people the same way. Right now, I'd rather have
this Long man come out here and take me to meeting where Carrie could
see it than to do a kind deed of any sort."

After this, to Henley's mystification, she did not talk as freely as at
the outset, and she seemed to be very thoughtful. As they were driving
into the bustling town, she looked at him fixedly and said:

"The papers say the programme don't begin till eleven o'clock. That's
the hour set for the first race with the reel-wagons. I was just
wondering what we'd better do to kill time till then. I hain't got a
thing to buy that you hain't got in your stock at home, and I hain't a
person to go in and nose about and have clerks pull down a whole raft of
bolts and boxes without paying for the trouble. You see, I reckon it
ain't later