His blue coat was old--not much protection, she thought, against the storm.
The false prophet had hitherto appeared quite as terrible to her imagination and as far removed from real life as the wild beast of story books; now he appeared very much like any other man--rather more kind in his actions, perhaps, and distrait in his thought.

Susannah began to think herself a discoverer.
"You are not keeping the rain off yourself." "It don't matter about me.

I don't mind getting wet." His tone carried conviction.

After a while gratitude again stirred her into speech.
"I'm afraid you find it awfully hard holding up the umbrella." He gave a glance downward at her as she toiled by his side.

"Why you're most blown away as it is.