A look showed him that the horse was not otherwise injured by the runaway, and another look showed him that it would be impossible to use the carriage. One of the wheels was broken.
“Here’s a pickle!” cried Joe. “A whole bottle of ’em, for that matter. I can’t get her home that way, and she can’t very well walk. I can’t carry her, either. I guess the only thing to do is to get her to the nearest house, and then go for help—or ’phone, if they have a wire. I’m in for the day’s adventure, I guess, but I can’t leave her.”
Not that he wanted to, for the more he was in the girl’s presence, the more often he looked into her brown eyes, the more Joe felt that he was caring very much for Miss Varley.
“Come, Matson!” he chided himself, “don’t be an idiot!”
“Well?” she questioned, as he came back to her.
“The carriage is broken,” he told her. “Do you think you could walk to the nearest house?”
“Oh, I’m sure of it,” she replied, and now she smiled, showing two rows of white, even teeth. “I’m feeling ever so much better. But perhaps I am keeping you,” and she hung back.
“Not at all. I’m glad to be able to help you. I suppose I had better tie your horse.”
“Perhaps.”
As Joe turned back to the grazing animal there was the sound of a motor car out in the road. He and the girl turned quickly, the same thought in both their minds. Then a look of pleased surprise came over Miss Varley’s face.