"I call him a good many myself, but I'm his daughter."
"You don't look it," said Mark admiringly. " Come and have a
little ride, Won't you?"
"Oh, I couldn't possibly, thank you. Some one would be sure to
see us, and father's so strict."
"There isn't a building for half a mile! Just jump in and have a
spin till we come to the first house; then I'll let you out and
you can walk the rest of the way home. Come, do, and make up to
me a little for my disappointment. I'll skip the candy-pull if
you say the word."
It was an incredibly brief drive, at Mark's rate of speed; and as
exciting and blissful as it was brief and dangerous, Patty
thought. Did she imagine it, or did Mark help her into the wagon
differently from--old Dr. Perry, for instance?
The fresh breeze lifted the gold thread of her curls and gave her
cheeks a brighter color, while her breath came fast through her
parted lips and her eyes sparkled at the unexpected, unaccustomed
pleasure. She felt so grown up, so conscious of a new power as
she sat enthroned on the little wagon seat (Mark Wilson always
liked his buggies "courtin' size" so the neighbors said), that
she was almost courageous enough to agree to make a royal
progress through the village; almost, but not quite.
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