CHAPTER VI
NEIGHBORS
Lucas Pritchett was not as slow as he seemed.
In one motion he drew in the plunging ponies to a dead stop, thrust the lines into Lyddy’s hands, and vaulted over the wheel of the farm wagon.
“Hold ’em!” he commanded, pulling off the long, snuff-colored overcoat. Flinging it behind him he tore down the bank and, in his high boots, waded right into the stream.
Poor ’Phemie was beyond her depth, although she rose “right side up” when she came to the surface. And when Lucas seized her she had sense enough not to struggle much.
“Oh, oh, oh!” she moaned. “The wa–water is s-so cold!”
“I bet ye it is!” agreed the young fellow, and gathering her right up into his arms, saturated as her clothing was, he bore her to the bank and clambered to where Lyddy was doing all she could to hold the restive ponies.
“Whoa, Spot and Daybright!” commanded the young farmer, soothing the ponies much quicker than he could his human burden. “Now, Miss, you’re all right—”
“All r-r-right!” gasped ’Phemie, her teeth chattering like castanets. “I–I’m anything but right!”
“Oh, ’Phemie! you might have been drowned,” cried her anxious sister.