Nancy shivered.
“Miss Brown is cold,” exclaimed one of the students. “Do you suppose the proprietor would mind if we set a match to his logs?”
“We’ll take the risk,” said another, lighting a pile of wood in the open fireplace.
“Polly, put the kettle on and we’ll all have tea,” commanded Edward, pointing to a tray on a wicker table on which were tea things ready for use.
The young man answering to the name of “Polly” obediently started the flame on the alcohol lamp, and another student, growing bolder still, penetrated the kitchen premises of the villa and returned with a handful of cups and saucers.
“Might as well be killed for a sheep as a lamb,” observed Edward. “Did you find any bread and butter in the larder?”
“No; tea biscuit,—a tin full,” cried “Polly,” depositing a tin box on the table.
All this time Nancy Brown, enthroned in the largest and most comfortable chair in the room, was being waited on like a small queen.
Her curls had curled closer from the dampness; her little feet on the brass fender were drying comfortably and the uneasy thought of how she was to explain things to Miss Helen Campbell was stowed away somewhere in the back of her mind.
“Here’s to our host, whoever he is,” exclaimed Edward, raising his cup of tea and then putting it to his lips. “Whoever he is, may he be granted peace and prosperity for his unconscious hospitality.”