Nobody was disposed to delay; nor, for that matter, was there any lingering on the way to the farmhouse. Heads bowed to the storm, collars turned high, hands buried in pockets, the party splashed across the fields with Mr. Grant in the lead.
Mrs. Grant was ready to receive them. She took absolute command the moment they entered the door.
“Get out of your wet things this instant, every one of you!” she ordered. “Hannah, you take the overcoats and hang ’em up by the kitchen stove. And you boys, you get over by the living-room fire. Mercy me! but you’re as sopping wet as our old cat was the day he fell into the cistern. And don’t be afraid to take off your shoes and dry ’em—wet feet’s the worst thing that can happen; and I’m not going to have your mothers think I let company manners help give you all colds. Yes, and don’t be bashful about pulling off your socks if the water got through to ’em. And Hannah, oh, Hannah! Run up-stairs and bring down some of Mr. Grant’s socks—bring enough to go ’round. They’ll be a mite roomy, maybe, but that won’t matter. And bring along all the slippers you happen to see.... Eh, eh? What’s that, now?” Sam had put a somewhat anxious inquiry when the lady paused an instant for breath. “The others, you say? Aren’t they here? No, they’re not. But which ones do you mean? Let’s see! Let me take tally.... Oh, I see now. You mean that queer little one I thought was looking for dust on the map, and the other boy—the nice, polite one—not that you aren’t all polite, of course!” she concluded hastily.
Sam’s face lengthened. “We missed them,” he explained, “but supposed, of course, they’d started back together.”
Mrs. Grant shook her head vigorously. “If they started, they didn’t get here. And that’s funny, too; for how could they miss the path? But don’t you worry! They’ll come straggling in pretty soon, I warrant you. And they couldn’t come to much harm anywhere in Sugar Valley. So just you sit down and make yourself comfortable while you wait for ’em.” And she gave Sam a friendly push toward the fire.
Sam drew his chair close to the hearth, where most of the other boys already had taken their places. Both the light and warmth from the blazing logs were cheering, and the spirits of the party were improving rapidly. Thanks to heavy outer jackets, and high overshoes, they had come through their experience better than anybody unused to rough weather outfits might have supposed to be possible; but it was comforting, nevertheless, to toast for a little before the fire. Then Mrs. Grant, who had her own theories as to the wants and tastes of boys, brought in a huge dish of doughnuts and another of crullers, while Hannah bore a great pitcher of lemonade.
“Just a snack, you know,” the hostess declared. “A bite or two to tide you over and take away that tired feeling.”
In view of the tremendous dinner, this luncheon might have been thought a little premature, but every member of the Safety First Club then present helped himself to a doughnut or cruller, and did this most willingly. Poke, in spite of his sorrows, especially distinguished himself; but even Sam was no laggard in performance. Still, his sense of responsibility for all of the party wasn’t dulled.
The rain was falling more heavily than ever—of this he could be sure from its beating on the windows. Mrs. Grant, too, was observant of the weather.
“Boys,” she declared, “you can’t drive back to town this afternoon in that open sleigh. Why, you’d be drowned out! I just won’t let you go. Be no trouble to take care of you over night. My, but this old house has room enough for as many more, and then a few extras.”