"Oh, I'm goin' to walk!" said Mandy, emphatically.
"All right!" said Perkins. "Guess I'll walk too with the crowd."
"Don't mind me," said Mandy.
"I don't," laughed Perkins, "you bet! Nor anybody else."
"And that's no lie!" sniffed Mandy, with a toss of her head.
"Better drive to church, Mandy," suggested her mother. "You know you're
jist tired out and it will be late when you get started."
"Tired? Late?" cried Mandy, with alacrity. "I'll be through them dishes
in a jiffy and be ready in no time. I like the walk through the woods."
"Depends on the company," laughed Perkins again. "So do I. Guess we'll
all go together."
True to her promise, Mandy was ready within half an hour. Cameron
shuddered as he beheld the bewildering variety of colour in her attire
and the still more bewildering arrangement of hat and hair.
"You're good and gay, Mandy," said Perkins. "What's the killing?"
Mandy made no reply save by a disdainful flirt of her skirts as she set
off down the lane, followed by Perkins, Cameron and Tim bringing up the
rear.
The lane was a grassy sward, cut with two wagon-wheel tracks, and with
a picturesque snake fence on either side. Beyond the fences lay the
fields, some of them with stubble raked clean, the next year's clover
showing green above the yellow, some with the grain standing still in
the shock, and some with the crop, the late oats for instance, still
uncut, but ready for the reaper.
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