"Mary!" he turned and shouted, "c'mon down here a minute." All this time he carefully guarded the door so that entrance was not possible. I had the intelligence at last to seat Helen on the porch steps while "Mary" made suitable toilet above stairs. The old woman came down in a red flannel mother Hubbard, from which stray ruffles of her nightgown protruded.
"What's all this foolishness about, Henry?" she inquired sharply.
"Young fellow and his girl—says she's hurt," Henry replied.
"Are they married?"
"Dunno. I don't take much stock in the story myself."
"If you'll allow me to explain—" I ventured, thinking it about time I took a hand in the dialogue.
"Tell them my name, Ted. Every one around here knows father," Helen suggested. Why had I not thought of this before?
"Miss Claybourne has had a fall from her horse and is hurt," I began.
"Martin Claybourne's girl?" the old woman interrupted.
"Yes."