"It should be a delightful country to live in--for the women."

"They all say so. We used to have an adage to the effect that America
was paradise for women, purgatory for men, and--well, an entirely
different sort of place for oxen."

There was no doubt that Yates had a way of getting along with people.
As he looked at his companion he was gratified to note just the
faintest suspicion of a smile hovering about her lips. Before she could
answer, if she had intended to do so, there was a quick clatter of
hoofs on the hard road ahead, and next instant an elegant buggy, whose
slender jet-black polished spokes flashed and twinkled in the sunlight,
came dashing past the wagon. On seeing the two walking together the
driver hauled up his team with a suddenness that was evidently not
relished by the spirited dappled span he drove.

"Hello, Margaret!" he cried; "am I late? Have you walked in all the
way?"

"You are just in good time," answered the girl, without looking toward
Yates, who stood aimlessly twirling his cane. The young woman put her
foot on the buggy step, and sprang lightly in beside the driver. It
needed no second glance to see that he was her brother, not only on
account of the family resemblance between them, but also because he
allowed her to get into the buggy without offering the slightest
assistance, which, indeed, was not needed, and graciously permitted her
to place the duster that covered his knees over her own lap as well.
The restive team trotted rapidly down the road for a few rods, until
they came to a wide place in the highway, and then whirled around,