To her delight she saw
that the driver was Grandfather Emerson. She waved her hand to stop
him.
"You're a great caretaker!" he cried. "Why do you leave Elisabeth to
look after herself in this fashion? And who's her friend?"
Ethel climbed into the machine beside him and told of the discovery
that the girls had just made. Mr. Emerson drew the car alongside the
curb and jumped out with anxiety written on his face. The hole in the
hedge was too small for him to push through so he ran around the end,
and approached the prostrate form of the woman.
Her eyes were closed and she lay so still that Ethel Blue, who was
rubbing her hands, shook her head as she glanced up gratefully at the
new arrival.
"What's this, what's this?" asked Mr. Emerson in his full, rich voice.
Its mere sound seemed to carry comfort to the poor creature lying at
his feet. He knelt beside her. "Hungry, eh?" he asked. "We'll see
about that right off. Can you eat these cookies?" He took a thin tin
box out of his pocket and opened it. "I have a little granddaughter
named Ethel Brown who insists on my keeping cookies in my pocket all
the time so that I can eat them when I'm driving.
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