She was tireder still when they got out of the train at Hillsboro Station and started wearily up the road toward Putney Farm.  Two miles lay before them, two miles which they had often walked before, but never after such a day as now lay back of them.  Molly dragged her feet as she walked and hung heavily on Betsy’s hand.  Betsy plodded along, her head hanging, her eyes all gritty with fatigue and sleepiness.  A light buggy spun round the turn of the road behind them, the single horse trotting fast as though the driver were in a hurry, the wheels rattling smartly on the hard road.  The little girls drew out to one side and stood waiting till the road should be free again.  When he saw them the driver pulled the horse back so quickly it stood almost straight up.  He peered at them through the twilight and then with a loud shout sprang over the side of the buggy.

It was Uncle Henry—­oh, goody, it was Uncle Henry come to meet them!  They wouldn’t have to walk any further!

But what was the matter with Uncle Henry?  He ran up to them, exclaiming, “Are ye all right?  Are ye all right?” He stooped over and felt of them desperately as though he expected them to be broken somewhere.  And Betsy could feel that his old hands were shaking, that he was trembling all over.  When she said, “Why, yes, Uncle Henry, we’re all right.  We came home on the cars,” Uncle Henry leaned up against the fence as though he couldn’t stand up.  He took off his hat and wiped his forehead and he said—­it didn’t seem as though it could be Uncle Henry talking, he sounded so excited—­“Well, well—­well, by gosh!  My!  Well, by thunder!  Now!  And so here ye are!  And you’re all right!  Well!”

He couldn’t seem to stop exclaiming, and you can’t imagine anything stranger than an Uncle Henry who couldn’t stop exclaiming.

After they all got into the buggy he quieted down a little and said, “Thunderation!  But we’ve had a scare!  When the Wendells come back with their cousins early this afternoon, they said you were coming with the Vaughans.  And then when you didn’t come and didn’t come, we telephoned to the Vaughans, and they said they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of ye, and didn’t even know you were to the Fair at all!  I tell you, your Aunt Abigail and I had an awful turn!  Ann and I hitched up quicker’n scat and she put right out with Prince up toward Woodford and I took Jessie down this way; thought maybe I’d get trace of ye somewhere here.  Well, land!” He wiped his forehead again.  “Wa’n’t I glad to see you standin’ there ... get along, Jess!  I want to get the news to Abigail soon as I can!”

“Now tell me what in thunder did happen to you!”

Betsy began at the beginning and told straight through, interrupted at first by indignant comments from Uncle Henry, who was outraged by the Wendells’ loose wearing of their responsibility for the children.  But as she went on he quieted down to a closely attentive silence, interrupting only to keep Jess at her top speed.