Simultaneously
they broke into an immoderate fit of laughter.
"Very well," decided the girl indignantly a little later, "if I can't
do anything else, I can lose him!"
But even this was easier of utterance than accomplishment. Diane was
soon to learn that if the distance between them grew too great, Mr.
Poynter promptly unloaded all but a scant layer of hay, took the reins
himself, and thundered with expedition up the trail in quest of her,
with Dick Whittington barking furiously. It was much too spectacular a
performance for a daily diet.
Diane presently ordered her going and coming as if the persistent
hay-gypsy on the road behind her did not exist, but every night she
caught the cheerful glimmer of his camp fire through the trees, and
frowned.
CHAPTER XIX
A NOMADIC MINSTREL
Striking west into New York State, Diane had come into Orange County,
whence she wound slowly down into northern Jersey, through the Poconos.
For days now the dusty wanderers had followed the silver flash of the
Delaware, coming at length from a rugged, cooler country of mountain
and lake into a sunny valley cleft by the singing river. It was a
goodly land of peaceful villages tucked away mid age-old trees, of
garrulous, kindly folks and covered bridges, of long, lazy canals with
grassy banks banding each shore of the rippling river, of tow-paths
padded by the feet of bargemen and bell-hung mules and lock-tenders.
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