The others laughed and Jack arose and went to a window. It was still raining hard, but the thunder and lightning had passed over and the wind had diminished considerably. The old iron-case clock on the mantel behind the glowing stove said a quarter past five.
“You fellows had better stay and have some supper,” he said. “There’s no use trying to get back in this rain.”
“Oh, much obliged,” said Hal, “but we can get across to the ferry all right. It’s just a little way, isn’t it?”
“About a quarter of a mile. But your clothes aren’t dry, I’m afraid. You’re welcome to wear what you have on, but they don’t fit very well. The best thing to do is to telephone over to your folks that you’re all right and then stay here until your things get dried.”
“We—ll, it’s awfully good of you.” Hal looked inquiringly at his friend. Bee appeared not to see the question. He only sighed comfortably and stretched his long legs farther toward the stove. “If we won’t be too much bother, Miss—Miss Fuller, I guess we’ll stay.”
“You won’t be any bother at all,” Aunt Mercy assured him. “I’ll just tell Susan to cook a little more supper.”
“Let me go, Auntie,” said Faith.
“No, I’ll go. I cal’ate I’d better get down a pot of that barberry preserve.”
“Gee,” laughed Jack, “I wish we had shipwrecked folks to supper every night, don’t you, sis?” and Faith shyly owned that she did. Aunt Mercy pretended to be insulted.
“I cal’ate, Jack Herrick, that you don’t ever suffer for preserves in this house!” she declared.