“But what will Ruth say?” asked the farmer’s wife.
“And what will your Mrs. MacCall say, eh?” chuckled the farmer.
“Why, don’t you suppose they will be kind to ’em, too?” cried Agnes. “Ruth would do the same herself. I know these poor folk have very little money and nowhere to go—”
“Enough said, Robert. We have no right to thwart such unselfish impulses,” Mrs. Buckham said. “Go and harness up the carriage—”
“No,” said the farmer, “I’ll take the pung. And I’ll fill the body with straw, so ‘t that poor chap won’t get his ankle hurt no more. How’s the streets in town, Aggie? How’s High Street?”
“Why, it’s good sledding,” declared the girl. “We see nothing now but automobiles and sleighs.”
“Strawberry Farm ain’t got quite as fur as an auto yet,” chuckled Mr. Buckham. “But maybe we will in time,” and he went out to hitch up.
Without having been told further, Posey now brought in a cup of hot cocoa and a nice little luncheon. In the midst of eating this welcome feast, Agnes remembered the forlorn party camping amid the railroad ties.
“Oh, dear me! I don’t suppose Mr. Scruggs and Barnabetta have anything at all to eat—poor things!” she cried.
So a big basket was filled with food and a can of coffee, and that Agnes carried out to the sleigh when it appeared at the side porch, and climbed into the great heap of straw with it, and burrowed down. The colts started off briskly, and they left Posey on the porch watching them while Mrs. Buckham waved her hand at the window.