“Me, too; we could have been killed just as easy, whether the oxen were murderously inclined or as playful as kittens. Ugh! that redhead!”
“It wasn’t his fault,” said Dorothy.
“He never should have left us alone with them.”
“It was that dog did it,” declared Dorothy.
“Don’t matter who did it. The dog was funny enough looking to scare ’em into fits,” giggled Tavia. “Here he comes again. Oh, I hope the oxen don’t see him.”
“Yet you blame the young man with the—light hair,” hesitated Dorothy. “Here he comes now.”
The excited young man with the flame-colored tresses was ahead of the three collegians. He leaped right into the water and called to the girls to come to the back of the cart.
“’Tis no knowing when them ugly bastes will take it inter their heads to start ag’in,” he declared, holding his strong arms to Dorothy. “Lemme carry ye ashore out o’ harm’s way, Miss.”
Dorothy trusted herself to him at once. But the boys were not to be outdone in this act of gallantry—at least, one of them was not. Bob Niles rushed right into the water and grabbed Tavia, whether she wanted to be “rescued” or not.
“Bob, my dear boy,” said Tavia, in her most grown-up manner, “don’t stub your poor little piggy-wiggies and send us both splash into the water. That would be too ridiculous.”