"I'd be glad to go with you and stay till to-morrow," she said; "but first I want to own up that I didn't 'zactly trust you,—but now I do."
"Wal, wal, thet shows a nice sperrit! Now, you come along o' me, an' don't try to talk nor nothin'. Jest come along."
He took Midget's hand, and they went down the steps, and along the street for a block or two, to a sort of livery stable.
"Set here a minute," said Mr. Geary, and he left Marjorie on a bench, which stood outside, against the building.
After a time he returned, with an ancient-looking vehicle, known as a Rockaway, and a patient, long-suffering horse.
"Git in back," he said, and Marjorie climbed in, too tired and sad to care much whither she might be taken.
They jogged along at a fair pace, but Mr. Geary, on the front seat, offered no conversation, merely looking back occasionally, as if to assure himself that his guest was still with him.
After a mile or two, Marjorie began to think more coherently.
She wondered what she would have done if she hadn't chanced to fall in with this kind, if rough, friend.
She wondered whether she could ever have reached Grandma Maynard's house in safety, for the crowds and confusion were much worse than she had anticipated, and in New York they would be worse still.