“Hoh!” said Elyot, “I know where there’s one, just as easy as not. Come on.”
It was now his turn to haul Alexia, and he did it so successfully that she was soon over the little steps, and in the “Provision Room.”
“If ever I’m thankful,” she sighed gratefully, “it is to see that sticky mess come out,” when Elyot had delightedly plunged the napkin into a pail of water standing in the corner. “Oh, my goodness me! if it had spoiled that; and it’s one of her great big embroidered K’s, too! Well, come on; we must run back, or the whole troop of them will be after us. Wring it out and hang it up, do! Now come on.”
She picked up her skirts, and skipped over the steps, Elyot scuttling after, in time to hear Pickering say, “Evidently my wife doesn’t intend to take the train with me, for she’s disappeared.”
“Somebody take off this!”
“I haven’t disappeared at all; I’m here,” cried Alexia at his elbow. “The idea! Why, I’m going to look at the house on the hill; but ’tisn’t time yet,” drawing a long breath.
“Going to look at the house on the hill! Well, I guess you won’t to-night,” said Pickering, taking out his watch; “it’s just a quarter of ten, and the train leaves at ten. So, good-by, Alexia; you’ve got to stay all night.”
“Oh, I can’t—I won’t!” cried Alexia. “Oh, dear! somebody take off this horrible old apron,” wildly twisting this way and that.
“I will—I will,” cried little Elyot, fumbling at the strings.