"You sent nothing but the ring," said Cass, coloring, as he glanced at
the teamster.

"Why, THAT was a message, you born idiot."

Cass stared. The teamster smiled. Miss Porter gazed anxiously at the
wagon. "I think I'd like a ride in there; it looks awfully good." She
glanced mischievously around at the lingering and curious congregation.

"May I?"

But Cass deprecated that proceeding strongly. It was dirty; he was not
sure it was even WHOLESOME; she would be SO uncomfortable; he, himself,
was only going a few rods farther, and in that time she might ruin her
dress--

"Oh, yes," she said, a little bitterly, "certainly, my dress must be
looked after. And--what else?"

"People might think it strange, and believe I had invited you,"
continued Cass, hesitatingly.

"When I had only invited myself? Thank you. Good-by."

She waved her hand and stepped back from the wagon. Cass would have
given worlds to recall her, but he sat still, and the vehicle moved on
in moody silence. At the first cross road he jumped down. "Thank you,"
he said to the teamster. "You're welcome," returned that gentleman,
regarding him curiously, "but the next time a gal like that asks to
ride in this yer wagon, I reckon I won't take the vote of any deadhead