“Look out!” Ruth’s warning rang out just in time to scatter the runners as the same automobile she had so recently seen tore down upon them. This time the driver was alone. Like a flash he dashed by them, looking neither to the right nor left.
Only the fact that the rain was now beginning to come down in earnest deterred the ruffled hikers from holding forth wrathfully then and there. Bottling their caustic opinions of reckless motorists until a more convenient season, the homeward flight was continued. Rounding the curve, beyond which stood the cottage, every pair of eyes picked up a blue-clad figure fleeing across the lawn toward the front door.
“There’s Blanche!” called out Anne. “She has her hat on. She must have gone walking and got caught in the rain.”
“Do her good,” muttered Jane.
Bent on gaining cover, no one else took time to comment upon the girl just disappearing into the cottage. Nevertheless one of them had received a most unpleasant shock, and that one was Ruth Garnier.
CHAPTER XI
THE REVOLT OF RUTH
“We certainly missed one grand ducking,” crowed Jane. “Just listen to that!”
Gathered in the living room, the foresters had good reason for self-congratulation. Not more than ten minutes had passed since their run to cover, yet in that short interval, the shower had increased to driving sheets of rain that lashed furiously against the window panes. Above the beating of the rain, the wind whistled and roared about the sturdy little cottage, as though determined to tear it from its foundations.
“I’d hate to be back in the woods now with this storm going on,” shuddered Betty. “That wind is strong enough to send the trees crashing down.”