"Well if that doesn't beat all!" cried the woman, in wonder.
"We couldn't understand how no one was at home," went on Betty.
"Well, it's easy enough explained," said the woman. "I'm Mrs. Kate Robertson. Yesterday afternoon I got a telephone message from Kirkville, saying my husband, who works in the plaster mill there, was hurt. Of course that flustered me. Hiram Boggs brought the message. Of course you don't know him."
"No," answered Betty, as Mrs. Robertson paused for breath.
"Well, I was flustered, of course, naturally," went on the large lady. "I just rushed out as I was, got into Hiram Bogg's rig—he drives good horses, I will say that for him—I got in with him, just as I was, though I will say I had all my housework done and was thinking what to get for supper. I got in with Hiram, and made him drive me to the depot. I knew I just had time to get the three-thirty-seven train. And I got it. And me with only such things as I could grab up," she added, with a glance at her attire, which, though old fashioned, was neat.
"On my way to the station," she resumed, "I stopped at the drug store, telephoned to Martha Black, and asked her to run over and close up my house, for it looked like a storm."
"It did rain," put in Mollie.
"I should say it did. And Martha never closed my house?" It was a direct question.
"No, we did," said Betty. "Probably she forgot it."
"I'll have to see. Well, anyhow, when I got to my husband I found he wasn't much hurt after all. Still I stayed over night with him, as there wasn't a train back. And when I saw you girls on my porch I couldn't think what had happened. Are you a Votes for Women crowd?"