By the middle of the afternoon she was exhausted. Ahead of her, in a field, she saw a hay-stack. She was famished, and more thirsty than ever. But her knees were failing her. Above all things she needed rest. She crossed the field, sought the shady side of the stack, gathered together a little loose hay with which to make a bed, and dropped upon it, her hat screening her face.
She awoke with a start, knowing she was not alone, and with a cry of fear scrambled to her feet. A man was beside her—a young man with a very brown face, and dark eyes that twinkled. He had curly black hair, and wore a black slouch hat.
“Hullo,” said the man, grinning.
“Goo-good-afternoon,” returned Phœbe, catching up her hat as she backed away. She did not like the looks of the man. He made her think of gypsies.
“What you doin’ out here?” went on the stranger. He looked her over impudently.
Phœbe knew that she must give this man a satisfactory answer. And she felt, she scarcely knew why, that she must not let him think she was alone. “My father has just gone over to that house,” she answered, trying to keep her voice even. “I’m very hungry, and my father has gone to get me something to eat.”
“Is that so!” The man considered her explanation, and even turned about to look toward the house she had indicated. “Well, how does it happen your father and you are hangin’ around this hay-field?” he persisted.
“Well,”—Phœbe saw that she had partly convinced him—“my father’s automobile broke down, over there on the road. But I had to have something to eat before he fixed it, so he’s going to ask for food over there, and for gasoline.”
“Say!” resumed the young man, dropping his voice confidentially; “you stay here, and I’ll go over and meet your father, and help him carry the things—eh?”
“All right,” agreed Phœbe, heartily. (Anything to get rid of the stranger!) “And tell my father please to bring plenty of water.” (This was a master stroke!)