Meanwhile Dave, taking to the road again, soon placed distance and some timber growth between themselves in the Big Six and the bull.
“Well, Miss Nan,” said Phil, who had recovered, “that was what you were scared at and I don’t wonder. Does he often do that way?”
“Not often.” The girl was trying to hide her feet, somehow feeling that she was now where clothes assume greater importance than they do at home on the farm. “I was out after blueberries. Sam—that’s what we call him—had got out of the pasture, and when he saw me I think a bee or something had stung him. Anyway, he blamed it on me. He took after me full tilt and I had to run. I don’t know what I’d done but for you all.”
“I’m sure we were glad to be where we could help,” encouraged Phil, “though I feel sure I don’t long for another such narrow escape. I must thank you, too, Miss Nan, for helping Paul drag me aboard, for I was about all in.”
“Don’t you worry, Nan,” broke in Paul, who had been taking in the girl’s embarrassment. “I lived on a farm when I was smaller, and we didn’t bother much about how we dressed. I’m sure you look well, no matter what clothes you wear.”
Nan blushed while Paul, feeling that he had done well, turned to Dave.
“Where you going now, Mac?”
“Just jogging along. But perhaps we better stop and find out what we’re going to do next. What you think, Phil?”
“Oh, there’s my berry pail!” said the girl, pointing at an overturned tin bucket near the roadside. “If you will let me out I’ll be going on.”
“Do you live near? But of course you do, or you wouldn’t have run across your bull. Could we take you home?” This from Phil.