For a moment Jim laughed with her; then the seriousness of their situation was borne in upon him, and his face sobered.
“It’s the kind of an omelet that won’t come off in a hurry, I’m afraid,” he said. “How on earth are we going to walk into Riverburgh like this?”
It was the first time that he had appealed to her, and Lou’s laughter ceased also, but her cheerful confidence did not fail her.
“We gotter find some place where we can git cleaned up, that’s all,” she replied practically. “Most anybody would let you do that, I guess, if you told them what happened, an’ if you can’t ask–why, I kin. Anybody ’cept a mean old thing like that! I s’pose I ought to be sorry that his wagon’s broke an’ his eggs are all over us instead of where they 84was goin’, but I’m not a mite. Long’s he wasn’t hurt, I’m kinder glad.”
“Still, those people in the car ought to have stopped to see the extent of the damage they had done, even if they did have the right-of-way,” Jim observed. “The old fellow had his grievance, but he got my goat when he said he didn’t care if your neck was broken or not, and I wouldn’t have helped him if I could.”
“‘Goat’?” Lou repeated.
Jim had no opportunity to explain, for at that moment a woman in a faded gingham gown toiled hurriedly over the brow of the hill, and, on seeing them, stopped, with one hand at her breast.
“Oh!” she gasped. “There’s wasn’t anyone hurt, was there? I saw the accident from my porch, and I came just as quick as I could.”
Jim explained, and the woman listened, wide-eyed.
“You both come straight along with me,” she invited when he had finished. “I’ll lend you some overalls, and you and the little girl can just sit around while your clothes dry.”