ZENAS, after his first stare, trotted after Sally, and because his horse was of finer breed—a riding mare belonging to his mother—he soon passed the girl and turned to grin at her over his shoulder.
"What makes ye so slow, mistress?" he mocked. "Methinks ye will arrive at Newark next week instead b' this day!"
Sally smiled back at him. Her cheeks blazed beneath the sunbonnet, which seemed to scoop all the heat there was's she rode along. "Oh, Zenas," she eyed with longing gaze the cool depths of a woodland they were passing, "an we could only stop and rest!"
But the boy shook his head. "Nay, ye be the very one who did say to go wi' the bullets! So, say I, the sooner we get them to our men, the better!"
"Ye be right," sighed Sally. Yet the great copper ball of the sun seemed to be burning a hole straight through her shoulders, the feel of her horse's heaving sides grew to be more and more unbearable, until at last she called to Zenas: "I—nay,
