“Maybe I can mend it when we get to Bayport,” said Miss Parker.

“What’ll you mend it with—­pins?”

“No, there’s a needle and thread in my reticule.  Wait till we get to Bayport and then—­”

“Can’t mend it in broad daylight ridin up and down the main street, can you?  And I’d look pretty shuckin’ my coat in the minister’s parlor for you to patch up the holes in it.  Couldn’t you mend it now?”

Hannah announced her willingness to try, and the reticule being produced, the needle was threaded after numerous trials, and the mending began.  Caleb, holding the lantern, watched the operation anxiously, his face falling at every stitch.

“I’m afraid I haven’t made a good job of it,” sighed Hannah, gazing sorrowfully at the puckered and wrinkled star in the back of the garment.  “If you’d only held that lantern steady, instead of jigglin’ it round and round so, I might have done better.”

Mr. Hammond said nothing, but struggled into his coat, and picked up the reins.  He sighed, heavily, and his sigh was echoed from the back seat of the carryall.

The road was now very rough, and the ruts were deep and full of holes.  George Washington seemed to be stumbling through tall grass and bushes, and the carryall jolted and rocked from side to side.  Miss Parker grew more and more nervous.  After a particularly severe jolt she could not hold in any longer.

“Land of love, Caleb!” she gasped.  “Where are you goin’!  It doesn’t seem as if this could be the right road!”

“I don’t know whether ’tis or not; but it’s too narrow and too dark to turn ’round, so we’ve got to go ahead, that’s all.”

“Oh, heavens!  What a jounce that was!  Seems to me you’re awful reckless.  I wish Kenelm was drivin’; he’s always so careful.”

This was too much.  Mr. Hammond suppressed his feelings no longer.

“I wish to thunder he was!” he roared.  “I wish Kenelm or some other dam’ fool was here instead of me.”

“Caleb Hammond!”

“I don’t care, Hannah.  You’re enough to drive a deacon to swearin’.  It’s been nothin’ but nag, nag, nag, fight, fight, fight ever since this cruise started.  If—­if we row like this afore we’re married what’ll it be afterwards?  Talk about bein’ independent!  Git dap there!” this a savage roar at George Washington, who had stopped again.  “I do believe the idiot’s struck with a palsy.”

Hannah leaned forward and touched her fellow-sufferer on the arm.  “Sshh, shh, Caleb!” she said.  “Don’t holler so.  I don’t blame you for hollerin’ and—­and I declare I don’t know as I much blame you for swearin’, though I never thought I’d live to say a thing like that.  But it ain’t the horse deserves to be sworn at.  He ain’t the idiot; the idiots are you and me.  We was both of us out of sorts this mornin’, I guess—­I know I was—­and then you come along and we talked and—­and, well, we both went into this foolish, ridiculous, awful piece of silliness without stoppin’ to figger out whether we really wanted to, or whether we was liable to get along together, or anything else.  Caleb, I’ve been wantin’ to say this for the last hour or more—­now I’m goin’ to say it:  You turn that horse’s head around and start right home again.”