Suddenly Helen uttered a squeal of surprise, and grabbed her friend’s arm:
“Do look there, Ruth Fielding! Whom does that look like?”
Ruth came to her side of the carriage and craned her head out of the window to look forward. In the roadway on that side, a few yards ahead of the ambling horse, strode a figure in the rain that could not be mistaken. So narrow and mannish was the pedestrian that a stranger would scarcely think it a woman. The skirt clung to the rail-like limbs, while the straight coat and silk hat helped to make Miss Miggs look extremely like a man.
“And wet! That’s no name for it,” giggled Helen. “She’s saturated right to the bone—and plenty of bone she has to be saturated to. Let’s give her three cheers as we go by, Ruth.”
“You horrid girl! nothing of the kind,” cried Ruth Fielding, quite exercised. “We must take her in with us—the carriage will hold three. Unc’ Simmy!”
“You’re the greatest girl,” groaned Helen. “You might return good for evil for a year with this person and it would do no good.”
“It always does good,” responded Ruth. “Unc’ Simmy!”
“To whom, I’d like to know?” demanded Helen.
“To me,” snapped Ruth, and this time when she raised her voice she made the old darkey hear.
“Ya-as’m! ya-as’m!” he cried, turning and pulling the old horse down to a welcome walk.