“You’re right to think of them, Missy,” said the old man, whose eyes seemed to shine with a sort of solemn joy when they rested on Frances. “And ’twould never do to let them go in fear all night. They’d be out scouring the country, like as not. There’s Jim will set out for Woodend just as soon as he can get ready; and he’ll let your friends know you’re safe and well, and waiting here till sent for.”
“Jim cross the Common to-night!” cried Max, coming forward as spokesman for the visitors. “Oh, I say, Mr. East! How could he?”
“We mustn’t let him,” said Frances. “I’m sure we oughtn’t to.”
“I could go myself rather,” went on Max seriously. “It isn’t fair that Jim should suffer for my foolery. I ought to have backed up Frances when she wanted to hire a trap in Exham.”
“That’s over and done with, master,” said East, “and it’s no use to spend your time blaming yourself for what was just a bit of a frolic. Jim will go, he’s tall and strong and hardy.”
Frances looked at the grandson’s slight figure and sensitive face. Jim was healthily spare and wiry, but hardly robust. And he must be all in all to his grandfather—the prop of the little home. Her sense of justice made her beg hard that the venturesome journey to Woodend might not be made; but both the Easts, though they tried to reassure their anxious young guests, had evidently made up their minds.
“Elizabeth—our old housekeeper—lives quite close at hand,” said Jim to the girls. “I shall pass her cottage, and I’ll bid her come to you, Missies, and see to your comfort as well as she can.”
The girls insisted that they needed no waiting-woman, but Jim smiled in respectful disagreement while he wished them good-night. The room door closed softly behind him, and the grandfather, pitying the disturbed young faces, told their owners not to fret, for Jim would surely come safely back from Woodend, though not till long after they were a-bed and asleep.
The snowstorm which had brought with it to our youngsters so great an adventure was the talk of the countryside for many a week. The roads about Exham were impassable for some days, except to sturdy rustics or stout farm-horses. Dr. Brenton came to the smithy next day in a great waggon (just like Job Benson’s rescuing ark), which he had borrowed from a Woodend farmer; and with hearty thanks to the Easts, and warm acknowledgments of Jim’s pluck and consideration, carried off the wanderers to their homes.
“We should like to come again, if we may,” said Frances, lingering by the old grandfather for a second farewell.