She stuck her umbrella in the soft earth along the graveled walk.
"We—we came in to shut the windows," said Amy, gently.
A change came over the woman's face. She frowned—she smiled. She turned about and looked toward the nearest house. Then she spoke.
"Do you mean to tell me," she demanded, "that after I called her on the telephone, Martha Black didn't come over, shut my windows, lock up my house, and feed the cat? Didn't she?"
"We don't know. I'm afraid we don't know Mrs. Black," answered Betty. She was getting control of herself now. The aggressive woman had rather startled her at first.
"She lives down there," and the owner of the deserted house pointed toward the nearest residence.
"No one is here but us," said Betty. "We closed the windows, and we fed the cat. We also fed ourselves, but we left the money to pay for it. Shall I get it?"
The woman stared at her blankly.
"I—I'm afraid I don't understand," she returned, weakly.
"I'll explain," said Betty, and she did, telling how they had come in for shelter from the storm, how they had found the windows open, how they had closed up the place and had eaten and slept in it. Now they were going away.