“To be sure I do.”
“And have you been there yet?”
“No, I’m on my way now. You’re out a bit, you know, but what are you doing down here?”
Edna told him her tale in which he was much interested. “Well, I declare,” he said. “Want me to take you home with me? I can bundle you in there with the milk cans, and I reckon you wouldn’t freeze.”
For a moment Edna thought she must accept this invitation, then she looked at Nettie. Suppose her mother should not come that evening, and she should be there at night all alone. “Couldn’t you take Nettie, too?” she said.
“Why, certainly. The two of you aren’t much more than two milk cans, and I’m sure you’re not so big round.”
“Oh, but suppose mother should come,” said Nettie. “She would be so worried, and I must be here to keep up the fires.”
“Then,” said Edna firmly, setting her face against the temptation of the cheerful supper table at home, the dear mother arms, the greetings of the boys and all the rest of it. “I will tell you what I can do. I will write mother a little note and ask her if she can send somebody or find some way to get us something to eat, and I’ll stay till your mother comes, Nettie.”
“Oh, I think you are lovely to do that,” answered Nettie.
“Could you wait a minute, Mr. Snyder?” asked Edna. “I won’t write much.”