For Mason had thrown open the large worm-eaten door of the stables, and
inside could be seen the heads and backs of two cart-horses, huge,
majestic creatures, who were peering over the doors of their stalls, as
though they had been listening to the conversation.

Their owner glanced at them indifferently.

"Aye, they're not bad. We bred 'em three years ago, and they've taken
more'n one prize already. I dare say old Daffady, now, as looks after
them, would be sorry to part with them."

"I dare say he would. But why should he part with them?"

The young man hesitated. He was shaking down a load of hay for the pony,
and Laura was leaning against the door of the stall watching his
performance.

"Well, I reckon we shan't be farmin here all our lives," he said at last
with some abruptness.

"Don't you like it then?"

"I'd get quit on it to-morrow if I could!"

His quick reply had an emphasis that astonished her.

"And your mother?"

"Oh! of course it's mother keeps me at it," he said, relapsing into the
same accent of a sulky child that he had used once before.