And here came the farmer as she spoke—bewhiskered, grizzled, keen-eyed and always smiling, who cried:
“Here’s the tardy one! Why, I thought you were coming out betimes, young lady? How are all at the Corner House?”
Agnes was too greatly excited to reply in full to that question. Mr. Bob Buckham sat down and the Corner House girl related all that had befallen her since she had left home that morning—save that she said nothing about the mystery of the big album she had found in the Corner House garret, and the Scruggs’ interest in its contents.
Her explanation, therefore, as to why the circus clown and his daughter desired to detain her at their camp in the woods was rather hazy; but the fact of the clown being hurt and the helplessness of the two trampers were sufficient to excite the pity and alarm of the farmer and his wife.
“Tut! tut!” clucked Mr. Buckham. “They can’t stay out there in the snow. It’s going to be mighty cold to-night.”
“It is awful to think of,” agreed Mrs. Buckham. “But Posey’s got her hands full. If I was up and about myself—”
“Oh, dear, Mrs. Buckham! I wasn’t thinking of such a thing as bringing them here,” Agnes cried. “The man can’t walk to the Milton car. He can scarcely walk at all, with that sprained ankle. But if Mr. Buckham will hitch up and drive over there, and take ’em to the car, I can get ’em from the car to the Corner House.”
“Oh, dear me, child! To your house?” cried Mrs. Buckham.
“Dunno ’bout that,” said Mr. Buckham.
“Of course,” said Agnes. “We’ve plenty of room—and beds enough for a hotel.”