Part 9 (1/2)

But Barbara's looks were against her. The rain had beaten her hair down over her eyes. Her clothes were wet and covered with mud from trying to help Ruth. What could she do? Barbara was frightened, but she kept a cool head. ”I'll just let the old man haul me before the nearest magistrate. I expect _he'll_ listen to me!” She was s.h.i.+vering, but she knew that to think bravely helped to keep up one's courage. ”If only it were not so awful for Aunt Sallie and the girls to be waiting there, I could stand my part,” murmured Bab.

For fifteen minutes captors and girl jogged on. Only the old man talked, savagely, under his breath. He wanted to get home to his farmhouse and supper, but this made him only the more determined to punish Barbara.

”I suppose we'll take all night to get to town at this rate,” she thought miserably.

For we are jolly good fellows, For we are jolly good fellows!

Barbara could hear the ring of the gay song and the distant whirr of a motor car coming down the road. If only she could attract someone's attention and make them listen to her! She could now see the lights of the automobile bearing down upon them.

Like a flash, before the farmer could guess what she was doing, Barbara whirled around on old Dobbin's back, and sat backwards. She put one hand to her lips. ”Oh, stop! Stop, please!” she cried, looking like a gypsy, with her rain-blown hair and brown cheeks, which were crimson with blushes at her awkward position.

On account of the rain, and the oncoming darkness, the car was going slowly. At the end of one of the choruses the song stopped half a second. One of the young fellows in the car caught sight of Barbara, evidently being dragged along by the irate farmer and his wife.

”Hark! Stop! Look! Listen! Methinks, I see a female in distress,” the young man called out.

The car stopped almost beside the buggy, and one of the boys in the car roared with laughter at Barbara's appearance, but the friend nearest him gave a warning prod.

”Hold on there!” called the first young man. ”Where are you dragging this young lady against her will?”

”She's a hoss thief!” said the old man sullenly.

”I am no such thing,” answered Barbara indignantly. Then, without any warning, Barbara threw back her head and laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks, mingling with the rain. It was absurdly funny, she sitting backwards on an old horse, one hand in his mane, and the farmer pulling them along with a rope. What must she look like to these boys?

Barbara saw they were gentlemen, and knew she had nothing more to fear.

”Do please listen, while I tell my story. I am not a horse thief! I've some friends up the road, stuck in the mud with a broken tire in their automobile. I saw this old horse in the farm-yard, and I borrowed or rented him, and started for help. The old man wouldn't let me explain.

Won't you,” she looked appealingly at the four boys in their motor car, ”please go back and help my friends?”

”Every man of us!” uttered one of the young fellows, springing up in his car. ”And we'll drag this old tartar behind us with his own rope! We'll buy your old horse from you, if this young lady wants him as a souvenir.”

It was the farmer's turn to be frightened.

”I am sure I beg your pardon, miss,” he said, humbly enough now. His wife was in tears.

”Oh, never mind him,” urged Barbara. ”Please go on back as fast as you can to my friends. You'll find them up the lane to the left. I'll ride the old horse back to the farm, and settle things and join you later.”

”Excuse me, Miss Paul Revere,” disputed a tall, dark boy with a pair of laughing blue eyes that made him oddly handsome, ”you'll do no such thing. Kindly turn over that fiery steed to me, take my seat in the car and show these knights-errant the way to the ladies in distress. I want to prove to you that a fellow can ride bareback as well as a girl can.”

But the farmer was anxious to get out of trouble.

”I'll just lead the hoss back myself,” he said. ”No charge at all, miss.” Evidently afraid of trouble, the farmer made a hurried start homeward, and was soon lost to view, while Barbara rode back to her friends with help.

In ten minutes two motor cars were making their way into New Haven. The pa.s.sengers had changed places. Ruth sat contentedly with her hands folded in her lap, by the side of a masculine chauffeur, who had introduced himself as Hugh Post, and turned out to be the roommate, at college, of Mrs. Cartwright's brother, Donald. Barbara, wrapped in steamer rugs, sat beside the boy with the dark hair and blue eyes, whom Miss Sallie had recognized as Ralph Ewing, son of the friends with whom they expected to board at Newport.

It was arranged that Barbara and Ruth were to sleep together the first night at New Haven. The truth was, they wanted to talk things over, and there were no connecting doors between the three rooms. The hotel was an old one, and the rooms were big and dreary. They were connected by a narrow private hall, opening into the main hall by a single door, just opposite Ruth's and Barbara's room. The automobile girls were in a distant wing of the hotel, but the accommodations were the best that could be found.

Miss Sallie bade their rescuers a prompt farewell on arrival at the hotel. ”We shall be delighted to see you again in the morning,” she said, ”but we are too used up for anything more to-night.”

Barbara was promptly put to bed. She was not even allowed to go down to supper with the other girls, but lay snuggled in heavy covers, eating from a tray by her bed. Once or twice she thought she heard light footfalls outside in the main hall, but she had noticed a window that opened on a fire escape, and supposed that one of the hotel guests had walked down the corridor to look out of this window.