“Oh, Helen!”
The car was at the gate, and Tom brought it to a prompt stop. Helen, his twin sister, was out of it instantly and almost leaped into the bigger girl’s arms.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” sobbed Helen. “You are alive after all that horrible experience coming home from Europe.”
“And you are alive and safe, dear Helen,” responded Ruth Fielding, quite as deeply moved.
It was the first time they had met since separating in Paris a month before. And in these times of war, with peace still an uncertainty, there were many perils to fear between the port of Brest and that of New York.
Tom, in uniform and with a ribbon and medal on his breast, grinned teasingly at the two girls.
“Come, come! Break away! Only twenty seconds allowed in a clinch. Don’t Helen look fine, Ruth? How’s the shoulder?”
“Just a bit stiff yet,” replied the girl of the Red Mill, kissing her chum again.
At this moment the first sudden swoop of the tempest arrived. The tall elms writhed as though taken with St. Vitus’s dance. The hens began to screech and run to cover. Thunder muttered in the distance.
“Oh, dear me!” gasped Ruth, paling unwontedly, for she was not by nature a nervous girl. “Come right into the house, Helen. You could not get to Cheslow or back home before this storm breaks. Put your car under the shed, Tom.”