As they entered the yard they met
Horace.
"O, dear," said Dotty, trying to look as sorry as she knew she ought
to feel, "that wheel--"
"What!" exclaimed Prudy.
There, under a syringa tree in the garden, stood the wheelbarrow. The
girls rubbed their eyes, and wondered if they were walking in their
sleep.
"That thing trundled itself in here about half an hour ago," said
Horace, gravely. "You may know I was surprised to look up, and see it
coming without hands, just rolling along like a velocipede."
Dotty eyed the runaway wheelbarrow stupidly. "I don't believe it,"
said she, flatly.
Horace laughed; and then the fog cleared away from Dotty's mind in a
minute.
"Why, girls," said he, "how long did you think I could wait to haul
off my weeds? You were gone two hours. I watched you on your parade,
and followed at a respectful distance."
"There, Horace Clifford!"
"In order not to disturb the procession. Then, when I saw you going
into the saloon, I went up and claimed my wheelbarrow. Didn't want it
any longer--did you?"
"No, and never want it again," said Prudy.
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