The rain had not stopped--not by any means.
Ruth and Helen had never seen so much water fall in so short a time. The
roadway, when Unc' Simmy drove out into it through the ruined gateway,
was flooded from side to side. It was like driving through a red, muddy
stream.
But the two girls were comparatively dry under the carriage top. They
looked out at the drenched country side with interest, meantime talking
together about the Lady of the Gatehouse, by which term they ever after
spoke of Miss Catalpa.
"The last of one of the F.F.V.'s, I suppose," suggested Helen. "I wonder
if Nettie's Aunt Rachel knows her. Nettie says Aunt Rachel knows
everybody who is anybody, in the South."
"I fancy this family got through being well-known years ago. The poor
little lady has been lost sight of, I suppose," Ruth said.
"Yes. All her old friends are dead."
"Except this old friend sitting up in front of us," Ruth said, smiling.
"Yes. Isn't he an old dear?" whispered Helen. "But I wonder if he shows
his Miss Catalpa off to all the Northern people who come to the Point?"
Ruth was silent on this matter. Helen did not suspect yet what Ruth had
discovered--that Unc' Simmy was the sole support of the little, blind
lady; and Ruth thought she would not tell her chum just now. She wanted
to think of some way of materially helping both the old coachman and the
Lady of the Gatehouse.
Suddenly Helen uttered a squeal of surprise, and grabbed her friend's
arm:
"Do look there, Ruth Fielding! Whom does that look like?"
Ruth came to her side of the carriage and craned her head out of the
window to look forward. In the roadway on that side, a few yards ahead
of the ambling horse, strode a figure in the rain that could not be
mistaken. So narrow and mannish was the pedestrian that a stranger would
scarcely think it a woman. The skirt clung to the rail-like limbs, while
the straight coat and silk hat helped to make Miss Miggs look extremely
like a man.
"And wet! That's no name for it," giggled Helen. "She's saturated right
to the bone--and plenty of bone she has to be saturated to. Let's give
her three cheers as we go by, Ruth."
"You horrid girl! nothing of the kind," cried Ruth Fielding, quite
exercised. "We must take her in with us--the carriage will hold three.
Unc' Simmy!"
"You're the greatest girl," groaned Helen. "You might return good for
evil for a year with this person and it would do no good."
"It always does good," responded Ruth. "Unc' Simmy!"
"To whom, I'd like to know?" demanded Helen.
"To _me_," snapped Ruth, and this time when she raised her voice she
made the old darkey hear.
"Ya-as'm! ya-as'm!" he cried, turning and pulling the old horse down to
a welcome walk.
"Let that lady get in here, Unc' Simmy. We'll take her to the hotel."
"Sho' nuff! Sartainly," agreed the coachman, and with a flourish he
stopped beside the woman who was fairly wading through a muddy river.
The rain was coming down harder again. It did not thunder and lightning
much, but the rainfall was fairly appalling to these visitors from the
North.
"Do get in, quick!" cried Ruth, opening the low door and peering out
from the semi-gloom of the hood.
The school teacher from New England understood instantly what the
invitation meant. She plunged toward the carriage and was half inside
before she saw who had rescued her from the deluge.
"Get in! get in!" urged Ruth. "Unc' Simmy will take us right to the
hotel."
Miss Miggs fairly snorted. "What! you? I wouldn't ride with you in this
carriage if we were in the middle of the Atlantic!"
She backed out and stepped right into a puddle of water as deep as her
ankles! The excited scream she gave made Helen burst into suppressed
laughter. Hearing the girl, the woman glared at her in a way that
excited the laughter of the careless Helen to an even greater height.
"Oh, drive on! drive on!" she gasped. "Let her swim if she wants to."
But Unc' Simmy would not do this unless Ruth said so. He looked down at
the half submerged school teacher from his seat and exclaimed:
"Wal, now! das one foolish woman, das sho' is! Why don' she git under
kiver when she's 'vited t' do so?"
Just then a new actor appeared on the scene. A big umbrella came into
view and its bearer crossed the road, splashing through the accumulated
water without regard to the wetting of his own feet and legs.
He gave the half-submerged woman a hand and drew her out to the side of
the road, and upon a comparatively dry spot. He had some difficulty with
the umbrella just then and raised it high enough for the two girls in
the carriage to see his face.
"Oh, Ruthie, look there!" whispered Helen, as the horse started forward.
"See who it is!"
"It's Curly--it's surely Curly Smith," muttered Ruth.
"That's what I tell you," whispered Helen, fiercely. "And now we can't
speak to him."
"Not with that Miss Miggs in the way. She is mean enough to tell the
police who he is."
"Never mind," cried Helen, exultantly, "he got ashore from the fishing
boat."
"But I wonder if he has any money left--and what he will do now. The
police may still be looking for him."
"Oh, a boy as smart as he is would _never_ get caught by the police,"
declared Helen, in delight. "I only wish I could speak to him and tell
him how glad I am he escaped arrest."
"You're an awful-talking girl," sighed Ruth, as the old horse jogged on.
"I wish I could get him to go back to his grandmother--and go back to
show the people up there that he is innocent."
"That does all very well to talk about, Ruth Fielding!" cried Helen.
"But suppose he can't _prove_ himself innocent? Do you want the poor boy
to go to jail and stay there the rest of his life?"