The most disquieting rumors had come down from the fields that afternoon, and Bob knew that every kind of story, authentic and unfounded, would be promptly retailed over the Watterby gate. If Mr. Gordon's life were in danger, and Bob feared it was, it would be agony for Betty to be unable to go to him and be forced to listen to hectic accounts of the fire.
"Well, well," said Grandma Watterby, when Betty told her that she had found the Saunders place. "So you rode to the three hills, did you? Ain't they pretty? Many and many's the time I've seen 'em. And Bob's aunties—Hope and Charity—they living there?"
Betty explained briefly that they were ill and that she and Bob were going to look after things.
"We may be gone two or three days or a week," she said. "You tell Uncle Dick where we are if he comes, won't you? Doctor Morrison will bring messages if you ask him. He's going to see them, too."
Grandma Watterby hurried to the pantry and came back with a glass jar in her hands.
"This is some o' my home-made beef extract," she told them. "You take it with you, Betty. There ain't nothing better for building up a sick person. Dear, dear, to think of you finding Hope and Charity Saunders. Do they know 'bout Bob?"
