Then they lay on the green turf by the brook, talking softly to the babbling accompaniment of its music.
Finally Eleanor shivered and sat up. “Where is the sun?” she asked. “Oughtn’t we to be starting?”
“HERE ARE SOME PERFECTLY ELEGANT MUSHROOMS”
The sky was not dark or threatening, only a bit gray and dull. The groom was to stay with the novices—Christy, Babe and Betty—who, as soon as the rest had mounted, raced down the road to get warm and also to return the pail that Bob had borrowed, to its owner. By the time they got back, after making a short call on the farmer’s wife, the sun was struggling out again, but the next minute big drops began to patter down through the leaves.
The groom considered the situation. “I guess you’ll jest have to wait and git wet. Miss Hildreth’s horse is skittish on ferries. I wouldn’t wanter go on with you an’ leave her to cross alone.”
So they waited, keeping as dry as possible under a pine tree, until the time appointed for starting to the rendezvous. It was raining steadily now. Babe’s horse objected to getting wet, and pulled on the reins sullenly. The sky was fairly black. Altogether it was an uncomfortable situation.
The road to the river was damp and slippery, and most of it was a steep down-grade. There was nothing to do but walk the horses, Babe’s dancing sidewise in a fashion most upsetting to Betty’s nerves. By the time they had reached the ferry, darkness seemed to have settled, and there were low growlings of thunder. Babe’s horse reared, and she dismounted and stood at his head while they waited for the ferry to cross to them.
“I guess there’s goin’ to be a bad shower,” volunteered the groom. “I guess we’d better wait over in that barn till it’s over. Animals don’t like lightning.”