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Page 49
"Oh, no matter about me," said Daisy, spitefully; "just see that
Miss Fairfield is looked after!"
Big Bill Farnsworth looked at the speaker. "Daisy Dow," he said,
quietly, "don't you get me any more riled than I am! If you do, I
won't be pleasant!"
"But I can walk," put in Patty, anxious to prevent a quarrel. "I
haven't on walking boots exactly, but I can flounder along
somehow. And we MUST get to shelter! Help me along, Jack, and I'll
try not to mind the thunder and lightning."
"Plucky little girl!" said Farnsworth, and Daisy scowled in the
darkness.
"What time is it?" asked Patty, who was now thoroughly ready to
face the situation.
"Just twelve o'clock," replied Jack, after several futile attempts
to light a match and see his watch.
"Then we MUST try to get to that house," declared Patty. "I had no
idea it was so late. Come, people, no matter what the result, we
must TRY to reach shelter and civilisation."
"Right!" said Pennington. "It's the only thing to do. I remember
the house. There was no light in it, though."
"No; it's so late. But we can ring up the family, and they'll
surely take us in for the night."
"Not if they see us first!" exclaimed Bill. "Oh, Miss Fairfield,
you look like Ophelia with those flowers tumbling all over your
face!"
Patty laughed, and removing the apple-blossom wreath from her
head, was about to throw it away. But she felt it gently taken
from her hand in the darkness, and she somehow divined that
Farnsworth had put it in his pocket.
The combination of this sentimental act with the drenched
condition of the flower wreath--and, presumably, the pocket, was
too much for Patty, and she giggled outright.
"What ARE you laughing at?" snapped Daisy. "_I_ don't see anything
funny in this whole performance."
"Oh, DO think it's funny, Daisy," implored Patty, still laughing.
"Oh, DO! for it ISN'T funny at all, unless we MAKE it so by
thinking it IS so!"
"Stop talking nonsense," Daisy flung back. "Oh, I've sprained my
ankle. I can't walk at all! Oh, oh!"
Farnsworth looked at her. "Daisy," he said, sternly, "if you've
really sprained your ankle, we'll have to get back into the car--
for I can't carry you. But if you CAN walk, I advise you to do
so."
Daisy looked a little frightened at his severe tone.
"Oh, I suppose I CAN walk," she said, "though it hurts me
dreadfully. Hold me up, Bill."
"I'll hold you," he replied, cheerily. "Now we'll take this
lantern, and we'll walk ahead. Pennington, you follow with Miss
Fairfield. Don't talk much, you'll need all your strength to walk
through the storm. It's abating a little, but it's raining cats
and dogs yet."
Unconsciously, Bill had assumed command of the expedition, and
involuntarily, the others obeyed him. That mile was a dreadful
walk! At first, it seemed fairly easy, for the road was a good
one, though wet and slippery. But soon the satin slippers were
soaked; stones and bits of gravel made their way inside, and at
last Patty found it almost impossible to keep hers on at all. Jack
tried to help, by tying the little slippers on with his own and
Patty's handkerchiefs, but these soon gave way. The rain fell
steadily now; not in dashes and sheets, but a moderate downpour
that seemed as if it meant to go on forever.
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