“Never mind, Miss Sallie,” Mollie explained, seeing her consternation. “Bab never rode any other way than bareback when she was a little girl. Do let her go!”
“Very well; but she may be arrested as a horse thief. That is all I have to say in the matter.” Miss Sallie sank back on her cushions, but Barbara had clattered off before she could be forbidden to go. She caught the words, “horse thief,” as she rode as fast as old Dobbin would carry her.
“It’s Barbara to the rescue again!” Ruth shouted after her.
CHAPTER VIII—“FOR WE ARE JOLLY GOOD FELLOWS!”
“Suppose I should be arrested!” thought Barbara uncomfortably. “It would be distinctly unpleasant to be hauled off to jail, while Aunt Sallie and the girls remain stuck in the mud, not knowing my fate, and helpless to save me! I may meet old Dobbin’s owner at any minute!”
It was after six o’clock, and, because of the heavy storm, was almost dusk. Barbara had decided to go to the end of the lane and find the main road to New Haven, hoping to sooner discover help in that direction.
Before long she came to a fork in the road. By riding close to the sign-post she found a hand pointing: “Nine Miles to New Haven.” On she sped through the mud and rain, slipping and sliding on the horse’s back, but still holding tight to his mane.
“Stop! Hello, there! Why, Mirandy, if that ain’t my own hoss, and that girl astride it running off as fast as she can! Hello! Stop!” The farmer lashed the horse hitched to his rickety old buggy, and dashed after Barbara, who had ridden past without noticing them. “Stop, thief!”
Down to her wet toes sank Barbara’s heart. The worst she had feared had happened. If only she had seen their buggy in time to stop first and ask their help. Now, rushing by them, how could she explain? Horse thief, indeed.
“Oh, please,” she said, her voice not quite steady, “I am not exactly running away with your horse; I am only going for help! My friends——”