The men ran past the party of women, shouting and gesticulating. There were a dozen of them. Others could be heard approaching the scene of the fire. Harriet, as soon as she was able to talk, and the coughing spells became less frequent, went over to the woman she had rescued. The swarthy complexion, straight black hair, and piercing black eyes of the woman were the same characteristics that Harriet had observed in the man who had fallen from the ladder.
“Do you feel better?” questioned Harriet, smiling a little.
The old woman nodded, her eyes never leaving the face of her questioner for an instant.
“You have this young woman to thank for being alive,” Miss Elting informed the old woman, stepping up to her and nodding toward Harriet.
“You saved me, eh?” questioned the stranger, looking searchingly at the girl.
Harriet did not reply, but Miss Elting answered for her.
“You saved Sybarina from fire from the skies?” insisted the woman.
“She means the lightning,” suggested Hazel.
“Yes, she did,” repeated Miss Elting. “She climbed the ladder to the hay loft and let you down with blankets tied together. Our blankets are there yet.”
“Oh, I forgot them,” cried Harriet. “How thoughtless of me! Now we shall have nothing to sleep in.”