At any rate, she would gladly accept shelter and hospitality for the night, and continue her journey next day, during the earlier hours.
It was well after six o'clock when the jogging old horse turned into a lane, and finally stopped at a somewhat tumble-down porch. An old woman appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Wal, Zeb," she called out, "did ye get back?"
"Yes, Sary, an' I brought ye a visitor for the night."
"A what! Wal, I do declar'!" and Mrs. Geary stepped down and peered into the back seat of the Rockaway. "Who in creation is that?"
"I don't know," returned her husband.
"Ye don't know! I swan, Zeb Geary, you must be plumb crazy! Whar'd ye get her?"
"Thar, thar, now, Sary, don't be askin' questions, but take the pore lamb in, an' cuddle her up some. She's plumb beat out!"
"Come on, dearie," said the old wife, who had caught sight of Marjorie's winsome face and sad eyes. "Come along o' me,—I'll take keer o' ye."
Marjorie let herself be helped from the rickety old vehicle, and went with her hostess, in at the kitchen door.