" She twitched her shoulders, and started Huckleberry
off again. She had called him Grant, instead of the formal Mr.
Imsen she had heretofore clung to, and he had not seemed to
notice it even.
He mounted with perfectly maddening deliberation, but for all
that he overtook her before she had gone farther than a few rods,
and he pulled up beside her with a decision which caused
Huckleberry to stop also; Huckleberry, it must be confessed, was
never known to show any reluctance in that direction when his
head was turned away from home. He stood perfectly still while
Good Indian reached out a hand.
"I'll carry it--I'm more used to packing bottles," he announced
gravely.
"Oh, but if you must carry it in your hand, I wouldn't dream
of--" She was holding fast the bottle, and trying to wear her
Christmas-angel look.
Good Indian laid hold of the flask, and they stood there
stubbornly eying each other.
"I thought you wanted me to carry it," he said at last, pulling
harder.
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