She threw herself on the bottom of the car,
and embraced the only living thing spared her,--the poodle. Then
she cried. Then a clear voice came apparently out of the
circumambient air:--
"May I trouble you to look at the barometer?"
She put her head over the car. Little was hanging at the end of a
long rope. She put her head back again.
In another moment he saw her perplexed, blushing face over the
edge,--blissful sight.
"O, please don't think of coming up! Stay there, do!"
Little stayed. Of course she could make nothing out of the
barometer, and said so. Little smiled.
"Will you kindly send it down to me?"
But she had no string or cord. Finally she said, "Wait a moment."
Little waited. This time her face did not appear. The barometer
came slowly down at the end of--a stay-lace.
The barometer showed a frightful elevation. Little looked up at
the valve and said nothing. Presently he heard a sigh. Then a
sob. Then, rather sharply,--
"Why don't you do something?"
CHAPTER VIII.
Little came up the rope hand over hand. Lady Caroline crouched in
the farther side of the car. Fido, the poodle, whined. "Poor
thing," said Lady Caroline, "it's hungry.
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