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Rh Mrs. Wheeler came running out to meet them with a rubber coat over her head.

“You poor drowned children!” she cried, taking Enid in her arms. “How did you ever get home? I so hoped you had stayed in Hastings.”

“It was Enid who got us home,” Claude told her. “She’s a dreadfully foolhardy girl, and somebody ought to shake her, but she’s a fine driver.”

Enid laughed as she brushed a wet lock back from her forehead. “You were right, of course; the sensible thing would have been to turn in at the Rice place; only I didn’t want to.”

Later in the evening Claude was glad they hadn’t. It was pleasant to be at home and to see Enid at the supper table, sitting on his father’s right and wearing one of his mother’s new grey house-dresses. They would have had a dismal time at the Rices’, with no beds to sleep in except such as were already occupied by Rice children. Enid had never slept in his mother’s guest room before, and it pleased him to think how comfortable she would be there.

At an early hour Mrs. Wheeler took a candle to light her guest to bed; Enid passed near Claude’s chair as she was leaving the room. “Have you forgiven me?” she asked teasingly.

“What made you so pig-headed? Did you want to frighten me? or to show me how well you could drive?”

“Neither. I wanted to get home. Good-night.”

Claude settled back in his chair and shaded his eyes. She did feel that this was home, then. She had not been afraid of his father’s jokes, or disconcerted by Mahailey’s knowing grin. Her ease in the household gave him unaccountable pleasure.