He found out that the cottager was engaged in cutting cordwood, for that section was hard wood, rather than the usual spruce, hemlock and pine.
“I wonder if there is any way that I could get back to town,” said Phil. “It is important that I get there, as my friends will be worrying about me. I would be glad to pay for the trouble.”
“I’ve a horse and cart that I use to haul cordwood in, but it’s pretty late tonight. Hadn’t you better plan to stay here for the night and let me take you in the morning?”
Phil noticed that the cottager was reluctant to go out, and immediately made an attractive offer for the drive, provided they could start out immediately.
“Where you staying in town?” asked the man.
“At a Mrs. Drysdale’s. She’s generally known as Aunt Abbie in town, though, I guess.”
“Well, well, that’s a different matter altogether,” said the cottager. “Aunt Abbie is kin to my wife, and she’d raise fits if she found that a friend of hers wasn’t obliged in any way possible. I’ll hitch up the horse while Mother makes you a cup of hot coffee, and you dry out a little, and then I’ll have you there in no time at all.”
This was absolutely to Phil’s liking, and he waited for the coffee to be made. When it was ready he drank it gratefully, for the rain had drenched him to the skin and chilled him completely.
On the way into town the cottager, whose name Phil learned was Lorimer, asked several questions about Phil, but none that caused Phil to have to be evasive in answering.
At Aunt Abbie’s, he was ordered straight off to bed, and only Phil’s violent protestations kept her from sending for the doctor.