“Not quite equal to the Allen boy; I admire him,” returned Grace in an undertone; but Fred heard and buttoned his overcoat above a swelling heart.
“Good night, we’re all so glad you came,” said Miss Pike, shaking hands warmly with him and Mary. Then off she went, and half the school followed, walking and riding by twos and threes and fours.
But where, oh where, in the name of all the spelling-schools, was Fred’s horse? There wasn’t the shadow of him to be seen. Where was Fred’s sleigh? There was not so much as the tip of a runner in sight. Where was Mr. Fling? Gone to Canada, perhaps, the smooth-faced deceitful wretch!
Fred would “have a sheriff after him,” so he assured cousin Flaxie, and that immediately.
Mary stamped her little low-heeled boots to keep her feet warm, and highly approved of the plan.
“Oh yes, Fred, do call a sheriff; I’m perfectly willing;” and the situation seemed delightfully tragic, till somebody laughed, and then it occurred to her that sheriffs, whatever they may be, do not grow on bushes or in snow-banks. And, of course, Mr. Fling had not gone to Canada, Fred knew that well enough; he had only “dropped in” at somebody’s house and forgotten to come out.
“The people, wherever he is, ought to send him home,” said James Hunnicut sympathetically.
“That’s so,” assented two or three others. “It’s abominable to go ’round calling with a borrowed horse and sleigh.”
So much pity was galling to both Mary and Fred, making them feel like young children, who ought not to have been trusted without a driver. Why wouldn’t everybody go away and leave them. The situation would surely be less embarrassing if they faced it alone.