After what seemed, oh at least a day! but which really was only an hour, the car slowed up in a tiny village and rolled down a hill to a fishing dock by the St. Johns river.
“There we are!” said the driver as he brought the car to a full stop and, jumping out, opened the door with a flourish. “In plenty of time too, I’ll say!” He helped Mrs. Merrill and the girls out, then rubbing his hands in satisfaction added, “I guess that’ll please him—no, lady,” as he saw Mrs. Merrill reaching for her purse; “you don’t owe me a cent—not a cent! Glad to do it for him!”
“For who?” asked Mrs. Merrill, puzzled but greatly relieved because she had begun to be anxious about the hole this ride might leave in her pocket book!
“For Mr. Merrill,” replied the driver, “aren’t you Mrs. C. F. Merrill?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Merrill, still puzzled.
“Just so,” replied the driver; “well, you see, last time he was down here I was a-working in Jacksonville and he did me a good turn. Now I’m a workin’ with the boat folks and when we see by the agent’s telegram that it’s you that’s late, seys I to them, ‘Now’s when I do them a good turn’—see? So here you are and the boat’ll be comin’ along in a minute.”
“I hope it does,” said Alice.
“And I hope it’s got a pantry on it cause I’m about starved,” said Mary Jane fervently.
“Sure faith!” exclaimed the man; “of course you are and it’s most four o’clock! Well, let’s see what we can do for you!” He turned to go up the hill in the hope that he might find some fruit in an orchard near at hand, but he hadn’t gone a dozen steps before a long, low whistle in the distance sent him hurrying back.
“There she comes!” he shouted, “I hear her! Look!”