"No, no," cried Dorothy. "I must go at once! See! Oh, Nat is coming this way—"
"Yes, here comes Nat. It will be all right now," and Tavia was soothing Dorothy as if she were a baby—patting her, smoothing her hair, and even pressing her lips to her cheek. In truth Dorothy appeared as weak as a baby, and seemed to require that help which a loving human hand may impart to a nervous body, at once the sense of protection and the assurance of sympathy.
"Ned is starting up the machine," exclaimed Tavia. "Oh, I know. He is going to give the man a ride."
Little dreaming how truly she spoke, for indeed Ned was going to give the strange man a stranger ride, Tavia showed Dorothy that she believed everything was all right now, and then Nat was there—they could call to him. Yes, he was whistling lightly. How silly they were to have been frightened!
"What is it?" demanded Dorothy, as soon as her cousin could hear her voice.
"I guess it was—"
"Nat! Nat!" screamed Tavia, at the same time running to him and whispering a word in his ear. "There, now, Dorothy. Didn't I tell you. Only a poor farmer. Where did he say he lived, Nat?"
"Tavia, you told Nat not to tell me—"
"Ha! ha! ha!" roared Nat. "Well, of all things. Not to tell you. Well I guess I will. Sit right down here, my little Coz, and I shall be delighted to tell you all I know," and at this he drew the almost exhausted girl down to a tree stump, to "tell her." But Tavia kept close at the other side of the young man—she could nudge him if—well, of course, just to make the story funny—perhaps!
"Wanted a ride, that was all," declared Nat. "See, here they are. We must not notice them as they pass!"