Colonel Marchbanks herded his household down the path.
“Well, let’s have our supper anyhow, before we start back,” said Mrs. Burkett, going to the baskets.
But Colonel Marchbanks decided that his folks should eat their supper at home; Miss Ferguson and Maybelle were started at the packing and getting ready, the children sent to wash their faces.
Lefty and Sam Cone had ridden in with Fayte; apparently Pearse was still up the creek at the scene of the accident. After a cautious look about her, Hilda started back that way. Out of sight of the others, she came on Tod and Jinnie lingering in the path.
“Where you going?” Tod got in front of her.
“Just up here. I’ll only be gone a minute. Don’t tell any one where I am—will you?”
“We won’t,” Tod agreed much too easily. “I won’t tell him.”
Hilda ran along the path a few steps when a saw-edged shriek from behind stopped her, turned her. There was Jinnie throwing herself bodily on her brother, pounding him fiercely, while he ducked and dodged the best he could—it was against family rules for him to hit back at Jinnie.
“Yes, he will tell!” squealed Jinnie. “Buvver Fayte’s goin’ to give him a korter-money for tellin’!” She grabbed at Tod’s hay-colored hair; he pulled free and ran. “Git him! Git him! He said he wouldn’t tell—and he’s running right now to tell Buvver Fayte— and get ’at korter-money!”
“What’s the matter, kids?” It was Pearse, leading his pony. Hilda turned to him instantly, crying out,