There was one fellow in the company who hardly ever spoke.  He was looked upon as a sort of crooked stick.  As he sat in the corner, paring his apple, he said in a drawling voice, without looking up,—­

“Better send Joe.”

“Oh, he won’t go, I’ll bet anything,” said two or three at once.

“What’ll you bet?” said I.

“Bet a kiss from the prettiest girl in the room!”

“Done!” said I, and jumped up as if to pick out the girl.  But they all cried out, “Wait till you’ve done it.”

They thought I wouldn’t go, because I’d never been particular to any girl.

After we went to bed that night, Jamie offered to go in my stead.  But I had made up my mind, and was not so easily turned.

Early next morning, Mr. Nathaniel drove up to the door in his yellow-bottomed chaise.  The wheeling was better than the sleighing, except in the woods.

“Here,” he said, “I’ve ballasted your craft, and made out your papers.  You go in ballast, but’ll have good freight back.  When you get to Swampsey-Village meeting-house, turn off to the left, and it’s the second house.  The roof behind slants almost to the ground.”

The “ballast” was heated stones.  The “papers” consisted of a letter, addressed to “Miss Margaret Holden, at the house of Mr. Oliver Barrows.”

The road to Swampsey Village, after running a few miles along by the sea, branched off to the southwest, over a range of high, wooded hills, called “The Mountains.”  ’Twas a long ride, and I couldn’t help guessing what manner of girl would in a few hours be sitting by my side.  Would she be sober, or sociable? pretty, or homely?  I hoped she wouldn’t be citified, all pride and politeness.  And of all things, I hoped she would not be bashful.  Two dummies, one in each corner, riding along in the cold!

“Any way,” I thought at last, “it’s no affair of mine.  I’m only sent of an errand.  It’s all the same as going for a sheep or a bag of corn.”  And with this idea, I whipped up.  But the sight of the slanting roof made me slacken the reins; and when I found myself really hitching my horse, I was sorry I came.

Before I reached the door, it opened, and there stood a white-haired old man, leaning upon two canes.  He wanted to see who had come.  I told my errand.  He asked me into the kitchen.  As I entered, I looked slyly about, to see what I could see.  But there was only a short old woman.  She was running candles.  She looked straight in my face.  The old man stooped down and shouted in her ear,—­

“He’s come arter Peggy! where is she?”

“Denno,” said she, toddling along to the window, and looking up and down the road.  “Denno.  Mile off, mebbe.  Master critter to be on the go!”

“There she is!” cried Mr. Barrows, from a back-window,—­“in the parster, slidin’ down-hill on her jumper.  Guess you’ll have to go look her, young man; the old woman’s poorly, an’ so be I.”