Eve
screeched, and screeched, and screeched; then fell to, with a face as
red as a turkey-cock's, and beat David furiously, and hurt--her little
hands.
David laughed. This incident did him good--shook him up a bit. The
pony groveled out of the ditch and cantered home, squeaking at
intervals and throwing his heels.
David got up, hoisted the side saddle on to his square shoulders, and,
keeping it there by holding the girths, walked with Eve toward Font
Abbey. She was now a little ashamed of her apprehensions; and,
besides, when she leathered David, she was, in her own mind, serving
him out for both frights. At all events, she did not scold him, but
kindly inquired his adventures, and he told her what he had done and
said, and what Miss Fountain had said.
The account disappointed Eve. "All this is just a pack of nothing,"
said she. "It is two lovers parting, or it is two common friendly
acquaintances; all depends on how it was done, and that you don't tell
me." Then she put several subtle questions as to the looks, and tones
and manner of the young lady. David could not answer them. On this she
informed him he was a fool.
"So I begin to think," said he.
"There! be quiet," said she, "and let me think it over."
"Ay! ay!" said he.
While he was being quiet and letting her think a carriage came rapidly
up behind them, with a horseman riding beside it; and, as the
pedestrians drew aside, an ironical voice fell upon them, and the
carriage and horseman stopped, and floured, them with dust.
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