"I didn't git much rest," concluded Zene. "I could drop off sound
now if I'd let myself."
"I'll drive," proposed Bobaday.
Zene reluctantly considered this offer. The road ahead looked smooth
enough. "I guess there's no danger unless you run into a fence
corner," he remarked.
"I can drive as well as Grandma Padgett can," said Robert indignantly.
Zene wagged his head as if unconvinced. He never intended to let
Robert Day be a big boy while he stayed with the family.
"Your gran'marm knows how to handle a horse. Now if I's to crawl
back and take a nap, and you's to run the team into any accident, I'd
have to bear all the blame."
Robert protested: and when Zene had shifted his responsibility to
his satisfaction, he crept back and leaned against the goods, falling
into a sound sleep.
The boy drove slowly forward. It seemed that old gray and old white
also felt last night's vigils. They drowsed along with their heads
down through a landscape that shimmered sleepily.
Robert thought of gathering apples in the home orchard: of the big
red ones that used to fall and split asunder with their own weight,
waking him sometimes from a dream, with their thump against the sod.
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