Ben had meanwhile jumped out and was gallantly helping Miss Ruth from the sleigh. Elsa was far too excited to think of introductions.
“This is your friend, Miss Ruth, Elsa?” asked the tall uncle, taking off his hat.
“Yes—excuse me—this is Miss Ruth, our Club—our Christmas Makers’ Club—” cried Elsa, telling the name before she thought.
“Miss Ruth looks more like a tall young lady than a Club,—even a Christmas Makers’ Club,” said Elsa’s uncle gravely.
“Uncle Ned! I mean that she runs the Club,” cried Elsa in half distressed, half-laughing tone.
“Yes, I run the Club,” said Ruth Warren quickly. The arc-light overhead shone brightly. The snow was on her long eyelashes and her face was flushed with the fresh air.
“I am grateful to you if my little niece has caught her red cheeks from the running,” was the instant reply.
“Here is another member of the Club,” Ruth Warren said, turning to Ben, “Ben Holt, the only boy in the Club.”
“Another red-cheeked member! I quite approve of this Club,” said the tall uncle, who had dark gray eyes, somewhat like Elsa’s. “Does the Club drive you, or do you drive the Club, sir?” he asked, in his quick way of speaking.
“Sometimes one, sometimes the other, sir,” Ben replied merrily. “I am the only one that takes them driving, though, because I have such a safe, steady horse.”