Nervous Mr. Steele thought he saw somebody there behind the bushes, before he heard from Tom. It had already begun to rain in big drops, and suddenly there was a flash of lightning and a report seemingly right overhead.
The host turned up his coat collar, thrust his cap over his ears, and ran out across the lawn toward the path behind the shrubbery. It led to a summer house on the side lawn, but this was a frail shelter from such a tempest as this that was breaking over the hill.
Mr. Steele saw the flutter of a skirt ahead, and dashed along the path, the rain pelting him as he ran.
“Come back here! Come to the house, you foolish girl!” he cried, and popped into the summer house just as the clouds seemed to open above and the rain descend in a flood.
It was so dark, and Mr. Steele was so blinded for a moment, that he could scarcely see the figure of whom he was in search. Then he beheld a girl crouching in a corner, with her hands over her ears to shut out the roar of the thunder and her eyes tightly closed to shut out the lightning.
“For mercy’s sake! get up and come into the house. This place will be all a-flood in a minute,” he gasped.
Suddenly, as he dragged the girl to her feet by one shoulder, he saw that she was not one of the house party at all. She was a frail, shrinking girl, in very dirty clothing, and her face and hands were scratched and dirty, too. A regular ragamuffin she appeared.
“Why—why, where did you come from?” demanded Mr. Steele.
The girl only stuttered and stammered, looking at him fearfully.
“Come on! never mind who you are,” he sputtered. “This is no place for you in this tempest. Come into the house!”