“There is only mother and I,” Robin said. “And we have plenty of room. Mother wouldn’t dream of letting you go anywhere else. Indeed, there isn’t anywhere to go—ours is the only house near the road.” She turned, and went up the hillside lightly. From the road she hailed them again.
“Can I bring back anything to make the hurt ankle comfortable?”
“It’s well bandaged with table-napkins, thank you,” Dr. Lane answered. “I think it will be all right until we get to your house.”
“That’s a lass with a head on her shoulders,” he remarked, as Robin gathered up her gun and her rabbits and disappeared round a bend in the track. “We’re in luck’s way, I fancy. One would not expect to meet a girl of her type in this wild place.”
“I was picturing spending the night in a splitter’s camp—and glad to get there,” his wife answered. “She looked so nice and clean—far cleaner than I feel! I wonder what the house will be like.”
“It’s any port in a storm for us to-night,” said Dr. Lane, regarding the wreck of his car ruefully. “Merri Creek must be that little place we saw below us a mile back—the railway terminus. It wouldn’t be a bad idea, Barry, if you got down there and telephoned to the hotel. Tell them to send out things for the night—your mother might as well be comfortable. If you explain what has happened they can send them with a car from the garage, and the garage people can size up the damage of the Buick, and see how we’re to get her in.”
“Right-oh!” said Barry. “But I say—we don’t know the name of the people here. How am I to tell them where to send?”
“By Jove! I never thought of that,” his father said.
“Just ask the people at Merri Creek,” said Mrs. Lane, practically. “I’m certain there can’t be two girls with hair like that walking round these hills in breeches! If you describe her, they will be sure to know.”
“But if a car comes out,” said Barry, “why shouldn’t we go back to Baroin in it?”