“She’s an old lady—she lives there,” said Polly, pointing to the house. “She had rheumatism in her knee, but she told us what to do and we had good things to eat and everything was lovely.”
“Except staying in the barn,” amended Margy. “A rat ran over me, Mr. Marley.”
“We’ll drive on to Mrs. Wicks’ house,” said Mr. Marley, “and thank her for her kindness. I don’t suppose she has a telephone, and if she had, the wires would probably be down. I’d like to tell the worried mothers that we have found you, safe and sound.”
Mrs. Wicks hobbled to the door to greet her visitors. She seemed delighted to have more company, and she would not hear of their starting back before she had cooked dinner for them.
Mr. Marley and Mr. Larue knew that she spoke wisely. The roads were badly drifted and, in spite of the sunshine, it was bitingly cold. If they had dinner before they started, the ride would be much more comfortable for them all.
So they said they would stay, and Mrs. Wicks hobbled about, delighted to have what she called “a full table.”
“It’s something like!” she said, when they sat down three-quarters of an hour later to a steaming hot dinner. “Something like, to have nine at the table.”
While the girls helped her with the dishes—for anxious as the fathers were to start home they would not leave the old lady with all the extra work to do alone—the boys carried in a great pile of wood, filling the woodbox to overflowing and stacking the sticks on the floor beside it. They fed and watered the chickens, so that a trip out to the henhouse that night would be unnecessary, saw that the lamps were filled, went down to the road to get the milk the neighboring farmer finally brought, and so left Mrs. Wicks assured of a comfortable night.
“We could have brought her home with us, I suppose,” said Mr. Marley, as he tucked the children in under the heavy robes, “but she wouldn’t be happy away from her own home. And she says her niece is coming in a few days to stay with her for the rest of the winter. But we mustn’t forget her. We’ll have to come and see her, often.”
“She isn’t poor, is she, Daddy?” asked Polly, thoughtfully, cuddling up to the heated brick Mrs. Wicks had given her.