"Why not?" asked Mrs. Adams, in surprise.

"I don't think Polly wants me to," answered the boy frankly. "I
don't want to be in the way." And he turned back to the house.

"'Tisn't that, mamma," said Polly, blushing at being caught. "I'd
like to have Alan go, well enough, only I was afraid it would be
too much for Job to take so many of us."

"In that case, you might have offered to be the one to give up,"
said her mother, in a low tone, which, though very gentle, still
brought a deeper flush to Polly's face. Then she added to Alan,
"Nonsense, my boy! You are thin as a rail, and don't weigh
anything to speak of. Get in here this minute, and if Job gets
tired, I'll make you all walk home."

Alan mounted to the front seat, where he made himself comfortable,
with a boyish disregard of Florence's fresh pink gingham gown;
Mrs. Adams shook the lines persuasively; Job waked and began to
trudge along with an air of sombre patience which would have done
credit to the scriptural original of his name.

"I am glad you are all of you used to Job," said Mrs. Adams
smilingly, as they moved slowly down the main street and across
the railroad track. "He really has been a valuable horse in his
day, and there was a time when nothing could go by him,--why,
what is the matter?" And she looked around at the girls on the
back seat, as they burst into an irreverent laugh.