“Come!” exclaimed Ruth suddenly, “let us drive on to this gentleman’s house.”
“Where is it?” asked Neale, getting in behind the steering wheel again.
“You can see our kitchen lamp twinkling in the window yonder,” said the blacksmith, stepping upon the running-board as Neale started the car.
They jolted down the rough road, and quickly came to the house in question. As far as they could see, it was rather a large country house with a terraced lawn before it and a driveway running up beside the dwelling to the rear premises.
“Drive her right up to the door, young man,” advised the blacksmith.
“Room to turn around up there?” asked Neale, the careful.
“Plenty,” agreed the man. “Don’t have no fear about that.”
Neale immediately turned the car up the little incline and the blacksmith leaped to the ground as it stopped.
“Now,” he said jovially, “one of you young misses just go up there on the porch and tell mother how you’re fixed. You can git out, ma’am, I’m sure,” he added, to Mrs. Heard, as Ruth jumped from the car. “Get out your baggage too—this here little shaver can help at that,” and he rumpled Sammy’s hair with his big hand.
“But—but——Do you mean we can stay here?” gasped Mrs. Heard.