Betty, seeing his embarrassment, was about to take pity upon him when something happened that they had not bargained for.  It began to rain, not gently, but in a deluge, taking the girls completely by surprise.

Instinctively they turned toward the car, but Mollie suddenly began to laugh in a half-hysterical manner.

“This is what I call fun,” she said.  “Engine dead, caught in the rain, and I’ve even left the side curtains at home!  I guess we’re in for it, girls.”

CHAPTER III

 The queer little man

While the girls stood looking wildly at each other their unknown rescuer seemed suddenly galvanized to action.

“This won’t do at all!” he cried, raising both hands to his bald head which was by this time very wet and more shiny than ever.  “You will get your death of cold, young ladies, you surely will.  You must come with me.  Here, right along this path I have a cottage—­” All the time he was talking he was hustling them fussily ahead of him, for all the world like some old hen with a brood of chickens.

The girls, not knowing what else to do and being in rather a bewildered frame of mind, allowed themselves to be hustled.  The rain was sheeting down in a terrific cloud burst, so that their clothes clung to them damply and they began to shiver.

They circled the fallen tree which had so nearly been their undoing, and a moment later found themselves upon a narrow footpath which seemed to lead into the very heart of the woods.

“I wonder where he is taking us,” whispered Grace in Betty’s ear.  “Maybe he’s a murderer or something.”

In spite of her discomfort, Betty giggled.

“Did you ever see a murderer with a bald head like that?” she asked.

It seemed to the girls as if the path must be at least a mile long, but just as they were despairing of ever reaching the end of it, they came out into a partially cleared space and through the trees caught a glimpse of something that looked like a house.

Their new acquaintance, who up to this time had been bringing up the rear, now took the lead and led them over tangled underbrush, stones and foot-bruising rocks, to his strange little dwelling.

“It’s a house, it’s a house!” cried Grace thankfully, as they hurried after the little man.  “I guess somebody will have to wring me out when we get inside.  I’m soaked through!”

“Goodness, why don’t you tell us something we don’t know?” grumbled Mollie, but nobody was listening to her.  They had reached the house and the man had swung the door open hospitably.

“Step inside, step inside, do,” he urged with a nervous gesture that reminded the girls once more of the proverbial hen.  “You will find it dry at least, and I will have a fire for you in a hurry.  Just a moment till I get some wood—­ just a moment——­”