“Oh,” Tavia ejaculated. Then to Bob: “How we are going to ride with milk cans is more than I can see.”
“The more the merrier,” Bob replied, laughing. “I never had a better time in my life. This beats a straw ride.”
“Oh, we have had them too, with Daddy,” she told him. “Doro and our crowd used to have good times when she lived in Dalton.”
“No doubt. This is the farmhouse, I guess,” Bob added, as the sleigh pulled up to a hill.
“Yes, this is Neil’s place,” Tavia said. “And there comes Mrs. Blair with a heavy milk can.”
“Oh, I must help her with that,” offered the young man. “I suppose our driver has to take care of his speedy horse.”
Disentangling himself from the heavy blankets, Bob managed to alight in time to take the milk can from the woman, who stood with it at the top of the hill.
“Oh, thank you, sir!” she panted. “The cans seem to get heavier, else I am getting lazy. But Neil had such a twinge, from this storm, that I wouldn’t let him out.”
“And did you do all the milking?” Tavia asked, as Bob managed to place the can in the spot seemingly made for it, beside Daddy.
“Certainly. Oh, how do you do, Tavia? How fine you look; I’m glad to see you home for Christmas,” Mrs. Blair assured the girl.
“Thank you. I’m glad to get home.”
“Fetchin’ company?” with a glance at young Niles.
“No, he’s going farther on,” and Tavia wondered why it was so difficult for her to make such a trifling remark.
“Well, I’m glad he came this way, at any rate,” the woman continued. “But Daddy will be goin’ without the other can,” and she turned off again in the direction of the barn.
“Are there more?” Bob asked Tavia, cautiously.
“I’m afraid so,” she replied. “But I guess she can manage them.”
“My mother would disown me if she knew I let her,” Bob asserted, bravely. “This is an experience not in the itinerary,” and he scampered up the hill, and made for the barn after Mrs. Blair.
Tavia could not help but admire him. After all, she thought, a good-looking lad could be useful, if only for carrying milk cans.
“And has that young gent gone after the can?” asked Daddy, as if just awaking from some dream.
“Yes,” Tavia replied, rather sharply. “He wouldn’t let Mrs. Blair carry such a heavy thing.”
“Well, she’s used to it,” Daddy declared. At the same time he did disturb himself sufficiently to get out and prepare to put the second can in its place.
A college boy, in a travelling suit, carrying a huge milk can through the snow, Tavia thought rather a novel sight, but Bob showed his training, and managed it admirably.
“I’ll put her in,” offered Daddy, “I didn’t know you went after it.”
“So kind of him,” remarked Mrs. Blair, “but he would have it. Thank you, Daddy, for stopping. Neil’ll make it all right with you.”
Daddy was standing up in the sleigh, the can in his hands, “I think,” he faltered, “I’ll have to set this down by you, Miss Travers,” he decided.
“All right,” Tavia agreed, making room at her feet.
He lifted the can high enough to get it over the back of the seat. It was heavy, and awkward, and he leaned on the rickety seat trying to support himself. The weight was too much for the board, and before Bob could get in to help him, and before Tavia could get herself out of the way, the can tilted and the milk poured from it in a torrent over the head, neck and shoulders of Tavia!
“Oh, mercy!” she yelled. “My new furs!”
“Save the milk,” growled Daddy.
“Jump up!” Bob commanded Tavia. “Let it run off if it will.”
But Tavia was either too disgusted, or too surprised, to “jump up.” Instead she sat there, fixing a frozen look at the unfortunate Daddy.
“My milk!” screamed Mrs. Blair. “A whole can full!”
“Was it ordered?” Bob asked, who by this time had gotten Tavia from under the shower.
“No,” she said hesitatingly, “but someone would have took it for Christmas bakin’.”
“Then let us have it,” offered Bob, generously. “If I had kept my seat perhaps it would not have happened.”
“Nonsense,” objected Tavia, “it was entirely Daddy’s fault.”
But Daddy did not hear – he was busy trying to save the dregs in the milk can.
“What’s it worth?” persisted Bob.
“Two dollars,” replied Mrs. Blair, promptly.
Bob put his hand in his pocket and took out two bills. He handed them to the woman.
“There,” he said, “it will be partly a Christmas present. I only hope my – friend’s furs will not be ruined.”
“Milk don’t hurt,” Mrs. Blair said, without reason. “Thank you, sir,” she added to Bob. “This is better than ten that’s comin’. And land knows we needed it to-night.”
“I’ve lost time enough,” growled Daddy. “And that robe is spoiled. Next time I carry milk cans I’ll get a freight car.”
“And the next time I take a milk beauty bath,” said Tavia, “I’ll wear old clothes.” But as Bob climbed in again, and Tavia assured him her furs were not injured, she thought of Dorothy’s prediction that she, Tavia, was about to have an adventure when she met Bob Niles.
“I’ll have something to tell Dorothy,” she remarked aloud.
“And I’ll have news for Nat,” slily said Bob.
CHAPTER V
DOROTHY’S PROTEGE
“Well, what do you think of that!”
“Well, what do you think of this!”
It was Nat who spoke first, and Dorothy who echoed. They were both looking at letters – from Tavia and from Bob.
“I knew Bob would find her interesting,” said Nat, with some irony in his tone.
“And I knew she would finally like him,” said Dorothy, significantly.
“Bob has a way with girls,” went on Nat, “he always takes them slowly – it’s the surest way.”
“But don’t you think Tavia is very pretty? Everyone at school raves about her,” Dorothy declared with unstinted pride, for Tavia’s golden brown hair, and matchless complexion, were ever a source of pride to her chum.
“Of course she’s pretty,” Nat agreed. “Wasn’t it I who discovered her?”
Dorothy laughed, and gave a lock of her cousin’s own brown hair a twist. She, as well as all their mutual friends, knew that Nat and Tavia were the sort of chums who grow up together and cement their friendship with the test of time.
“Come to think of it,” she replied, “you always did like red-headed girls.”
“Now there’s Mabel,” he digressed, “Mabel has hair that seems a misfit – she has blue eyes and black hair. Isn’t that an error?”
“Indeed,” replied Dorothy, “that is considered one of the very best combinations. Rare beauty, in fact.”
“Well, I hope she is on time for the Christmas-tree affair out at Sanders’s, whatever shade her hair.