The Turn of the Tide by Eleanor H. Porter

Author:Eleanor H. Porter
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781620133880
Publisher: Duke Classics

Chapter XXI

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It had been young McGinnis's intention to look up the home and the parents of the little mill-girl, Nellie Magoon, at once, and see if something could not be done to keep—for a time, at least—that frail bit of humanity out of the mills. Some days had elapsed, however, since he had talked with the child, and not until now had he found the time to carry out his plan. He was hurrying with frowning brow along the lower end of Prospect Hill road when suddenly his ears were assailed by the unmistakable evidence that somewhere a mob of small boys had found an object upon which to vent their wildest mischief. The next moment a turn of the road revealed the almost motionless runabout with its living freight of shrieking urchins, and its one white-faced, terrified girl.

With a low-breathed "Margaret!" McGinnis sprang forward.

It was all done so quickly that even the girl herself could not have told how it happened. Almost unconsciously she slipped over into the vacant seat and gave her place to the fearless, square-jawed man who seemingly had risen from the ground. An apparently impossible number of long arms shot out to the right and to the left, and the squirming urchins dropped to the ground, sprawling on all fours, and howling with surprise and chagrin. Then came a warning cry and a sharp "honk-honk-honk" from the horn. The next moment the car bounded forward on a roadway that opened clear and straight before it.

Not until he had left the town quite behind him did McGinnis bring the car to a halt in the shade of a great tree by the roadside. Then he turned an anxious face to the girl at his side.

"You're not hurt, I hope, Miss Kendall," he began. "I didn't like to stop before to ask. I hope you didn't mind being thrust so unceremoniously out of your place and run away with," he finished, a faint twinkle coming into his gray eyes.

Margaret flushed. Before she spoke she put both hands to her head and straightened her hat.

"No, I—I'm not hurt," she said faintly; "but I was frightened. You—you were very good to run away with me," she added, the red deepening in her cheeks. "I'm sure I don't know what I should have done if you hadn't."

The man's face darkened.

"The little rascals!" he cried. "They deserve a sound thrashing—every one of them."

"But I'd done nothing—I'd not spoken to them," she protested. "I don't see why they should have molested me."

"Pure mischief, to begin with, probably," returned the man; "then they saw that you were frightened, and that set them wild with delight. All is—I'm glad I was there," he concluded, with grim finality.

Margaret turned quickly.

"And so am I," she said, "and yet I don't even know whom to thank, though you evidently know me. You seemed to come from the ground, and you handled the car as if it were your own."

With a sudden exclamation the man stepped to the ground; then he turned and faced her, hat in hand.

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