"It may only be a passing storm," observed Lucy. "The rain then was nothing."
Lionel took her parasol and shook the wet off it. He began to wonder how Lucy would get home. No carriage could be got to that spot, and the rain, coming down now, was not, in his opinion, a passing storm.
"Will you promise to remain here, Lucy, while I get an umbrella?" he presently asked.
"Why! where could you get an umbrella from?"
"From Hook's, if they possess such a thing. If not, I can get one from Broom's."
"But you would get so wet, going for it!"
Lionel laughed as he went off.
"I don't wear a silk dress; to be scolded for it, if it gets spoiled."
Not ten steps had he taken, however, when who should come striding through an opening in the trees, but Jan. Jan was on his way from Hook's cottage, a huge brown cotton umbrella over his head, more useful than elegant.
"What, is that you, Miss Lucy! Well, I should as soon have thought of seeing Mrs. Peckaby's white donkey!"