It was a
mistake made a-purpose, done on that instinct which protects the man who
feels that he may be trailed. I was on an unexpected path to any one
waiting for us. Finally Virginia spoke to me.
"How is our farm?" she asked.
Now I had not forgotten how she had been kissed by Bob Wade, and
probably, while I was outside sulking, by a dozen others. By instinct
again--the instinct of a jealous boy--I started in to punish her.
"All right," I said surlily.
"What crops have you planted?" she went on.
"About ten acres of wheat," I said, "and the rest of my breaking in corn
and oats. You see, I have to put in all the time I can in breaking."
"How is the white heifer?" she asked, inquiring as to one of my cattle
that she had petted a lot.
"She has a calf," said I.
"Oh, has she? How I wish I could see it! What color is it?"
"Spotted."
There followed a long silence, during which we went farther and farther
off the road.
"Jake," said the judge, "whose house is that we just passed?"
"It's that new Irishman's," said I. "Mike Cosgrove, ain't that his
name?"
"Well, then," said the judge, "we're off the road. Stop!"
"Yes," I said, "I made the wrong turn back there. It's only a little
farther."
The judge was plainly put out about this. He even wanted to go back to
the regular road again, and when I explained that we would soon reach a
trail which would lead right into the Centre, he still persisted.
"If we were to be robbed on this out-of-the-way road," said he, "it
would look funny.
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