Then there was a knock at the door and a dripping woman entered. There
was not the slightest trace of timidity in her manner. Really, Aunt
Jennie, I thought at first that she was the most awful frump I had ever
seen. Her head was wrapped in a soaking little shawl, and her dress was a
remnant of grand-mother's days. Yet the poise of her head, the pleasant
smile upon her face and, more than all, her delightful voice, gave an
immediate hint of infinitely good breeding.

"Can't I help?" she asked. "I'd be awfully glad to. I should have been in
before but I was detained at the Burtons'. Had to look after the woman
during your absence, Dr. Grant."

"I beg to introduce the providence of Sweetapple Cove," said the doctor.
"Mrs. Barnett is the one person who proves the vulgar error that none of
us is indispensable."

She threw off her shawl, laughing.

"The doctor and I often hunt in couples," she explained.

Her voice was really the most delightful thing you ever heard. I forgot
her clothes, and her big boots, and went up to her, holding out my hand.

"Won't you let me take your shawl?" I asked. "It is sopping wet."

"I had an umbrella when I first came here," she said, "but it blew over
the cliffs long ago. Thanks, ever so much. And now what can I do?"

"You are always on hand when help is needed, Mrs. Barnett," said the
doctor. "Thank you for coming. I shall need you in a minute."