"There," exclaimed Tavia, "no more will come off, I'm sure."
"So am I," gasped Nat. "I wonder—well, never mind, you brushed me all right. If ever you want work just let me know."
The woman, who had introduced herself as Mrs. Hardy, was at the door now, and ordered Nat to come in at once.
"For clothes," she began, "I left out Sam's brand new pair of overalls. They hain't never been on him, and I thought they'd be better than anything else for summer. Then there's a clean soft shirt, and you won't need no coat, as it's a sight too warm to-day for coats. Them sneak shoes Sam only bought Saturday night. He likes to wear them to picnics, and there's to be one to-morrow evenin'."
Nat seemed unable to thank the woman. He really felt so miserable, physically, and so confused mentally, that his usual ready wit forsook him. But Dorothy could have hugged that dear little woman who was so kind and thoughtful. Ned was out in the motor car, so Dorothy was the one in "authority."
"You are so kind," she faltered to Mrs. Hardy, as Nat's muddy heels lost themselves from view up the box stairs. "I'm sure we cannot thank you enough."
"Tut, tut," interrupted the woman, busying herself at once about the little cook stove. "If the same thing happened to my Sam I know you'd do as much for him. He'll be in to dinner. Maybe you'll see him. I am proud of Sam. He's all I've got, of course, that makes some difference."
Ned now brought the machine up to the front of the house. He blew the horn to attract attention and Tavia ran out.
"Of all the luck," he stammered, trying to talk and laugh at the same time, "every scrap of our lunch is gone. Dogs, chickens, and maybe a boy or two took it. At any rate, they did not leave as much as the basket."
"Oh," gasped Tavia. "Isn't that mean!"