water in my boots makes them feel dreadfully. I wish that boy would
wheel me a piece. Don't you s'pose he would?" asked Bab, wearily
picking herself up as a tall lad trundling a barrow came out of a yard
near by.

"Hullo, Joslyn!" said Ben, recognizing the boy as one of the "hill
fellows" who come to town Saturday nights for play or business.

"Hullo, Brown," responded the other, arresting his squeaking progress
with signs of surprise at the moist tableau before him.

"Where goin'?" asked Ben with masculine brevity.

"Got to carry this home, hang the old thing!"

"Where to?"

"Batchelor's, down yonder," and the boy pointed to a farm-house at the
foot of the next hill.

"Goin' that way, take it right along."

"What for?" questioned the prudent youth, distrusting such unusual
neighborliness.

"She's tired, wants a ride; I'll leave it all right, true as I live
and breathe," explained Ben, half ashamed yet anxious to get his
little responsibility home as soon as possible, for mishaps seemed to
thicken.