The Worcester girls had such vivid contempt for his expressed unwillingness that they neglected to tell him of any appreciation they might have had for his noble struggle.
As Hawker and Miss Fanhall proceeded slowly they heard a voice ringing through the foliage: "Whoa! Haw! Git-ap, blast you! Haw! Haw, drat your hides! Will you haw?
Git-ap! Gee! Whoa!" Hawker said, "The others are a good ways ahead.

Hadn't we better hurry a little ?" The girl obediently mended her pace.
"Whoa! haw! git-ap!" shouted the voice in the distance.

"Git over there, Red, git over! Gee! Git-ap!" And these cries pursued the man and the maid.
At last Hawker said, "That's my father." "Where ?" she asked, looking bewildered.
"Back there, driving those oxen." The voice shouted: "Whoa! Git-ap! Gee! Red, git over there now, will you?
I'll trim the shin off'n you in a minute.

Whoa! Haw! Haw! Whoa! Git-ap!" Hawker repeated, "Yes, that's my father." "Oh, is it ?" she said.

"Let's wait for him." "All right," said Hawker sullenly.
Presently a team of oxen waddled into view around the curve of the road.
They swung their heads slowly from side to side, bent under the yoke, and looked out at the world with their great eyes, in which was a mystic note of their humble, submissive, toilsome lives.