This was “harking back” to the very first night Ruth had arrived at Cheslow from her old home at Darrowtown. But she was not likely to forget it, for through that accident of Master Tom Cameron’s, she had met this very dear friend beside her now in the automobile.
“Oh, dear me! and the fun we used to have when we were little girls—‘member, Ruthie?” demanded Helen, laughing. “My! isn’t it warm? Is my face shiny?”
“Just a little,” admitted Ruth.
“Never can keep the shine off,” said Helen, bitterly. “Here! you take the wheel and let me find my powder-paper. Tom says he believes I smoke cigarettes and roll them myself,” and Helen giggled.
Ruth carefully changed seats with her chum, who immediately produced the booklet of slips from her vanity case and rubbed the offending nose vigorously.
“Have a care, Helen! you’ll make it all red,” urged Ruth, laughing. “You do go at everything so excitedly. Anybody would think you were grating a nutmeg.”
“Horrid thing! My nose doesn’t look at all like a nutmeg.”
“But it will—if you don’t look out,” laughed Ruth. “Oh, dear, me! here comes a big wagon. Do you suppose I can get by it safely?”
“If he gives you any room. There! he has begun to turn out. Now, just skim around him.”
Ruth was careful and slowed down. This did not suit the fly-away Helen. “Come on!” she urged. “We’ll never even get to the old doctor’s house if you don’t hurry.”