Now they
were going away.
"Well if that doesn't beat all!" cried the woman, in wonder.
"We couldn't understand how no one was at home," went on Betty.
"Well, it's easy enough explained," said the woman. "I'm Mrs. Kate
Robertson. Yesterday afternoon I got a telephone message from Kirkville,
saying my husband, who works in the plaster mill there, was hurt. Of
course that flustered me. Hiram Boggs brought the message. Of course you
don't know him."
"No," answered Betty, as Mrs. Robertson paused for breath.
"Well, I was flustered, of course, naturally," went on the large lady. "I
just rushed out as I was, got into Hiram Bogg's rig--he drives good
horses, I will say that for him--I got in with him, just as I was, though
I will say I had all my housework done and was thinking what to get for
supper. I got in with Hiram, and made him drive me to the depot. I knew I
just had time to get the three-thirty-seven train. And I got it. And me
with only such things as I could grab up," she added, with a glance at
her attire, which, though old fashioned, was neat.
"On my way to the station," she resumed, "I stopped at the drug store,
telephoned to Martha Black, and asked her to run over and close up my
house, for it looked like a storm.
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