Instinctively he leaned over and began tightening the handkerchief on the girl’s wrist. He was engaged in this rather delicate task when, from behind a clump of shrubbery, stepped four maids. In an instant Tom knew them for Phil’s sister and her three chums. They regarded him and his companion curiously.
“Why—it’s Tom!” exclaimed Ruth impulsively.
“Yes. He—he helped me out of a bad predicament,” explained Miss Benson. “I was caught on a thorn bush. I’ve scratched my wrist dreadfully, girls.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Miss Tyler, rather blankly, and Tom thought it was strange that none of the girls seemed to take much interest in Miss Benson’s injury. She herself smiled at Tom, and then said:
“I’ll go along now, to the infirmary. I’m so much obliged to you. I’ll send the handkerchief back. It was so fortunate for me that I met you.”
“She generally manages to meet somebody,” murmured Miss Harrison, and Tom wondered more than ever as he lifted his hat in farewell.
“How are you?” greeted Tom, to Ruth and the others. “I’m a sort of special messenger to-day.”
He pulled out his letters—one for Ruth, one for Mabel, and one for Helen.
“None for me?” asked Madge, in mock distress.