"Where are we?" cried Crosby, sticking his head from beneath the
tarpaulin.
"We're in the dump-shed of the grain elevator, just across the track
from the depot."
"And the ride is over?"
"Yep. Did you get bumped much?"
"It was worse, a thousand times, than sitting on the beam," bemoaned a
sweet, tired voice, and a moment later the two refugees stood erect in
the wagon, neither quite sure that legs so tired and stiff could serve
as support.
"It was awful; wasn't it?" Crosby said, stretching himself painfully.
"Are you not drenched to the skin, Mr. Higgins?" cried Mrs. Delancy
anxiously. "How selfish of us not to have thought of you before!"
"Oh, that's all right. This gum coat kept me purty dry."
He and Crosby assisted her from the wagon, and, while the former gave
his attention to the wet and shivering horses, the latter took her arm
and walked up and down the dark shed with her.
"I think you are regretting the impulse that urged you into this folly,"
he was saying.
"If you persist in accusing me of faintheartedness, Mr.
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