These general conclusions the three boys reached in an extremely short space of time. What should they do? The day was warm and the tightly-closed stable was like an oven. In the cherry trees and along the hedge, bordered by bachelor buttons, at the opposite side of Mr. Gouger's back yard, the robins were twittering joyously. But their lively notes awakened no responsive feeling in the hearts of the imprisoned Trio.
Remotely possible is it, however, that, unnoticed though their music was, the songsters exerted an influence upon the thoughts of Soapy Gaines; or it may have been only a coincidence. At any rate, his spoken words were—
"I'll be blamed, Pick, if you ain't a bird! Followed that duffer into this trap like a pup trailing a meat wagon. Blame me, if you ain't a realbird!"
Mr. Gaines' tones, it may be stated, were even less complimentary than his language.
The stable's one window, composed of two small panes of extremely dirty glass, admitted to the young gentlemen within a dingy light. The shed was empty, save for the dirt and litter everywhere; but not one crack or crevice could be seen to suggest a loose board and possible means of escape. Clambering up to the little window, however, Freddy Perth discovered that it was hooked inside and he lost no time in admitting the air and sunlight.
"Can wriggle through here, all right, if we want to do it!" he exclaimed in loud undertones.
"Get along then, quick!" ordered Pickton. "S'pose we're going to stay here and get fined? You right after me, Soapy!"
Ordinarily Pick would have shown Gaines a very noticeable deference in allowing him to go first; but this was a different situation. He even resented Fred's being ahead of himself, and fumed irritably while that young fellow was slowly struggling through the narrow opening.
With no ledge or projection of any kind on the outer wall to steady him, Perth could only slip one foot and then the other through the window, let his body follow and drop to the ground. He struck in the midst of a wet and sticky heap of decaying weeds, garbage, tin cans, ashes and broken crockery but fortunately, upon his feet.
More frightened than ever, now, he viewed impatiently Pickton's painful efforts to force himself out of the stable by the same route, and his eventual success.
"For pity's sake, Gaines, don't be all day!" admonished Pick fretfully, when finally he had reached the ground in safety. "Let go, now! You're all right! Hangin' on there like a crazy pinchin' bug!"
Thus pleasantly encouraged, Soapy had by this time his head and body through the aperture, and was moved, yet loath, to let go his desperate grasp upon the edges of the window's frame. Stupidly he had not advanced feet first and in consequence there was but one chance in a thousand of his being able to alight upon those extremities when he let himself down. However the urgency of the situation as well as his friend's caustic remarks determined him to make the effort and with a subdued groan he pitched forward.
It was only as might be expected, under the circumstances, that when Gaines sought to leap clear of the window and get his feet in under him, he failed—failed wretchedly. His head plunged into a large, and sadly decomposed pumpkin, carried out to the heap of refuse when Mrs. Gouger had cleaned the cellar recently. His hands grasped only the wet, decaying weeds and, unable to steady himself, he rolled on his back amid the cans, the ashes and all that the rank heap contained.
If there was consolation for young Mr. Gaines in the fact that the pumpkin had broken the force of his fall, he expressed it in a weird and peculiar manner, as he struggled out. If he found reason to congratulate himself that, beyond a mixture of pumpkin pulp and seeds upon his face and in his hair, and sundry sorts of decomposed vegetation clinging to his hands and arms and clothing, he was not injured, he did this, likewise, in strangely excited, irritated language.
Perhaps he was thinking of other things than either consolation or congratulations. Nevertheless he let Perth lead him quickly to the car, half-blinded with the juices of the pumpkin in his eyes. Pickton had the engine going, and Soapy was pushed and lifted into his seat with more dispatch than ceremony. Even while Fred climbed up to the rumble the automobile was put under way. Then out of the alley and down the side street it lunged as if Eli Gouger were but a yard behind.
To follow the side streets to the city's outskirts, and avoid every thoroughfare that looked like a principal artery of the town, was Pickton's plan. For some distance he put on great speed, but later heeded Perth's suggestion to go more slowly and so attract less notice. And as even moderate driving would take one from center to circumference of Sagersgrove in no great length of time, the Roadster was well into the country within a quarter of an hour.
But on and on Pickton hurried. Whither he went he cared not, nor looked to see where he might turn to left or right. He wanted only to leave behind as far as possible the pursuers he believed would certainly be coming on.
"We'll be at the south pole sooner than the Queensville race course at this rate," Freddy Perth shouted, at last. "Head down the first likely looking road west. Great guns! Things aren't so desperate as all this!"
Soapy Gaines, still bearing noticeable evidence in his hair and on his clothing of his plunge from the window, but now able to see as usual, vehemently acquiesced in Perth's suggestion.
"Never saw a man lose his head so!" he growled, with reference to Pickton's frantic haste, regardless of direction. "We're after that Phil Way outfit, don't you know it! Catch 'em about next year! Sagersgrove is where we were going to get right behind 'em on the old pike!"
"A few miles west, then on the first thing that looks like a road, due north, and we'll come to the pike," suggested Fred, more pleasantly. "We can't help but recognize it, and the paper said Way's crowd took that route. Keep a-going. If we don't stop for noon we won't have lost much time, after all."
The still frightened travelers reached their looked-for road to the west a mile further on. Often they had looked back, but now they paused and scrutinized carefully the distant horizon in the direction they had come.
An old black horse and buckboard and a small boy in charge of that conveyance, which they had passed a few minutes before, were the only objects in sight along the dusty, sunny road. Over in the pasture on the right, some cows were feeding. In the wood lot on the left silence reigned save for the vagrant breeze faintly rustling the leaves. From a farmyard further down the road came indistinctly the cackling of a hen in token of a new laid egg added to the world's food supply; but for aught else within view or hearing the three lads might have been the sole inhabitants of the country.
The general influence of the calm and quiet scene was beneficial to the excited minds of Mr. Gouger's erstwhile prisoners. At a far more moderate speed than they had lately traveled they now went forward again, taking the road to the west. It pitched down a remarkably long, stony hill, then crossed a broad valley. And as by following this route the Trio escaped the necessity of taking a round-about way on the north side of Sagersgrove, as the Auto Boys had done, to pass the streets torn up for improvements, they really fared better than they thought.
Particularly was this true when, by mid-afternoon, they found themselves on the hard, level surface of the old State pike, quite as Freddy Perth had planned. What difficulties they escaped by missing the northern route the Auto Boys used, and what danger of straying into the Cowslip marshes they thus avoided, the travelers never discovered.
The fever of excitement accompanying their flight from the stable had quite subsided as Fred and Pickton exchanged places, the former taking the wheel preparatory to a long, steady run over the fine old pike. Three objects were now kept constantly in view. One, to leave Sagersgrove as far behind as possible before nightfall; another, to discover a store or restaurant where provisions for a picnic supper might be purchased, and the third to gain, if possible, certain information as to whether the Auto Boys had passed that way. A camping place for the night was a fourth but much later consideration, for it had been decided to keep the car in motion until a late hour.
Years ago one would have found plenty of opportunities to purchase either food or lodging along the still famous old road the boys were traveling. At nearly every four corners was a tavern or some house whose hospitality might be enjoyed for a moderate price. Frequent hamlets and villages marked the way, also, and there quite elaborate entertainment might be obtained at the inns. Very different did the Trio find the situation, however—as different, almost, as the contrast between their own conveyance and the stage coaches of old.
In one small settlement after another did either Perth or Pickton leave the car to inquire for the provisions they wanted, but beyond crackers, cheese and sometimes dry, hard cakes or cookies the general country stores offered them, they found nothing.
"We would have brought some proper stuff to eat along if you two hadn't been in such a frothy hurry!" growled Soapy Gaines, and as he spoke he was busily consuming the last of a dozen bananas Fred had brought from home.
But Mr. Gaines was not much given to self-denial or to a considerate manner at any time. He had set his heart on cold ham or chicken, iced tea and salad for his supper. The prospect of feasting on crackers and cheese did not strike him at all favorably, hungry as he was. Being pretty tired and having the mortification of his ridiculous plunge into the decayed pumpkin still in his mind, as well, it may be said that he was not the most agreeable of traveling companions.
And indeed, his mood showed little improvement as time passed. How much of his more than usual ill-temper might be attributed to the humiliating plunge from Eli Gouger's stable window, would be difficult to determine. No doubt he thought much of it and so grew all the more irritable, instead of passing the whole matter off with a laugh and then forgetting it, as any sensible young fellow would have done.
But Gaines had not gathered in environment or training even a moderate degree of good, sound sense. Perhaps he was not alone at fault, yet right here it may be said that, clear through to the wretched and unfortunate end of his connection with the present enterprise, he maintained quite constantly an air either of bullying and grumbling or utterly selfish indolence and indifference.
Freddy Perth and Pickton, as well, for that matter, were quite willing to make a supper of such simple provisions as they could obtain at the general stores, with the possible addition of milk, and maybe a pie or fresh bread and butter from some farmhouse. But no extent of "soap," as Perth called the wheedling talk and flattery Pick administered to Gaines, would make that young gentleman agree. It was quite dark, therefore, ere a town affording even moderately good hotel accommodations was reached. There a stop for supper was made. Even then Soapy found the iced tea and the salad not at all to his taste, but ate hugely of the plainer fare.
A more important development of the hour spent in the hotel was the certain knowledge gained that four lads in a heavily-laden touring car had stopped to purchase some newspapers a couple of days earlier. The news-stand clerk supplied this information quite frankly when asked if such tourists had been noticed passing through. He added that there would be many touring parties on the roads during the next week or more, going to the Gold Cup races.
So certain was he in his own mind, indeed, that the boys before him were bound for the big stock car contests (as he likewise had no doubt the four earlier travelers had been) that unconsciously he overstepped the truth in the report he gave. The young men who had passed on in advance hadtoldhim, he said, that they weregoingto the races. Hethoughtthey had stated that they would stay in Queensville.
"Sure thing!" exclaimed Freddy Perth as the information gleaned was discussed while the Roadster forged steadily forward again, a little later. "Sure thing!" said he. "I didn't think there was much to that 'three stones piled one on top of another,' unless just marking the place they are to have beside the race course. They'll go straight to Queensville. If we keep going late to-night, we can be there by to-morrow night ourselves."
Again Gaines gave it as his opinion that the Auto Boys had some business venture, as well as the races in view. Again Pickton kept to himself his thoughts on this subject—thoughts that were far from loyal to his companions. Maybe it would have been better had he mentioned them. Maybe it would have been better had he changed the plan that, in his heart, he knew he had formulated even before this journey was fairly started.
It was a warm June night. Fireflies flashed and vanished in constant succession over the field and along the roadsides. In the frequent farmhouses the lights shone pleasantly through open doors and windows. And always the gas lamps of the Roadster showed ahead a clear, smooth course. The car was leaving the miles steadily behind. Under the influence of the calm surroundings and the automobile's easy motion, Soapy fell asleep. He had turned partially upon his side and rested his head upon his arm thrown over the back of the bucket seat.
"We'll make camp when we find a good place," said Perth, at the wheel, over his shoulder to Pickton, "Gaines is dead to the world."
"Blessed good thing! He'd insist on a feather bed or something, if he wasn't," the person addressed made answer. "Don't know that I relish the idea of sleeping out very much myself; but gee whiz! I haven't got the price to hunt up hotels every time we want a meal or a bed, and neither have you. And you take it from me, Soapy will want to borrow some money from one of us before the week is over. I'll not give him a picayune!"
"Humph!" Perth responded, and that was all he did say. He didn't fancy the change in Pickton's words and tone, now that Gaines would not hear. But later he did add:
"It's camp out or nothing for me. That is what we planned to do and if we don't find a place where we can do what cooking we have to do, I'll get a room somewhere and pick up meals as best I can. Then if I run out of money I'm going to get a job at something or another till the races come off. Might as well see them, while we're there. Our chasing Phil Way and his bunch isn't going to amount to anything anyway—nothing more than that they won't be able to say they saw the Gold Cup and we didn't."
"You stick to me, Fred. We'll make Gaines do as we all agreed. We are going to find Worth and Way and those fellows and we're going to have some fun with 'em. We can rough it just as well as they can and if Gaines don't like it—"
"Oh, fiddle! You dream miracles and talk wonders! And it stops there," Perth exclaimed, but only half seriously. Then, "What you say is all right, Pick, but you won't stand by it."
"By the old bean porridge pot, Perth! You're the most contrary monkey I ever saw!" was Pickton's ejaculation. "I'll stand by every word I've said!"
But whether he did or whether he didn't subsequent chapters will show. For the present it is essential to state that beside a thick hedge, where the ground was level and the grass deep—and very wet with dew, in consequence—a camping place was found. Not one of the Auto Boys would have chosen such a spot. There was no water near, no trees beneath which the ground would be comparatively dry. The thorns of the hedge, also, where dead branches had fallen, might be encountered just when one least expected them.
No, Billy Worth or Phil, Paul or Dave would not have picked this place even in the dark. Pickton and Perth would not have done so either, had they possessed half the knowledge and experience the Auto Boys had gained in matters of this kind.
It was eleven o'clock by Freddy Perth's watch. For an hour or more the night air had felt quite cool, in the automobile, and thoughts of warm blankets and sleep were pleasant ones as camp was established at the point described, despite the objectionable features named.
Far back in Sagersgrove the town clock was striking the hour. Eli Gouger turned restlessly in his sleep and half awakened. "Might have had two, or maybe four dollars apiece out of 'em just as well as not, if that good-for-nothing Petersby hadn't had to get his dinner 'fore coming with me," he growled, as indeed he had been growling for some time. "Get his dinner! The blamed calf! He's a great one to be a constable, he is!"
It was with much growling and sleepy sulkiness that Soapy Gaines crawled down from his seat in the Roadster while Pickton and Fred were opening camp equipage and making ready for the night. By the lamps of the car he viewed their labors for a minute or two, drowsily grumbling the while, then putting a light motor robe over his head and shoulders threw himself on the grass heavily.
"Ow! Murder! I'm killed!" came frantic screams from young Mr. Gaines the next instant. "Ow! I'm—I'm killed dead!"
If "killed" Soapy was, however—to say nothing of his being killed "dead"—his actions were certainly extraordinary. He rolled over and over, then jumped to his feet, again calling out in greatest distress that he was "killed," and ending with the declaration in tones both loud and angry, "Never saw such crazy idiots! Let me jump into thorns a yard long and never say 'Look out!' Somebody'll get it for this, I'll bet, now you see!"
As a matter of fact there had chanced to be a considerable heap of thorny branches from the hedge buried in the tall grass at the precise spot where Gaines had thrown himself. They found him out in several places, piercing his back and legs painfully. And although his injuries were, of course, not at all serious, he seemed somehow not to take this fact into consideration.
He hopped about—"like a crazy war dance," Fred Perth muttered—then frantically sought to examine the damage sustained by the glare of the headlights. All the while he was saying things, some of which were not exactly complimentary to those addressed, and vowing vengeance on someone or something, he apparently did not know what.
Perth could scarcely suppress a laugh but Pickton was more in a mood to express some very decided opinions as the two helped Gaines assure himself that none of the thorns were still lodged in his flesh—an assurance he seemed very reluctant to accept.
"Anyhow, it shows us we'll have to be right careful about the tires. We'd have to pumpthemup again," observed Perth with a grin.
But Soapy saw nothing funny in the remark and quite pointedly said as much. And it was not until Pickton had explored a spot nearer the car, on his own hands and knees, and so proved that it was wholly safe, that the sadly spoiled member of the party could be persuaded to stretch himself in a blanket there and so fall asleep.
In a little while the other two of the somewhat discordant, though self-named "Chosen" Trio had done the same.
It was Friday night—the very evening on which a certain quartette of other lads had selected their permanent camp in the western edge of the Ship woods. Tom Pickton thought much of them, wondering where they were and what progress they might have made by this time with the mystery of the "three stones" as he lay gazing at the stars.
Very fearful was Thomas that ere their stopping place could be discovered and their movements investigated, he would be too late—too late to learn the secret of the Auto Boys' Quest. Or if not, indeed, too far behind them to discover the real purpose of the lads' expedition, at least too late to do some possibly successful exploring on his own account. For this, particularly, did Pick have in mind. If there was hidden treasure to be found, he had the right, he considered, to locate the same if he could do so.
But Tom fell asleep at last resolving only for the present that an early start must be made next morning and no pains spared to trace definitely the movements of the young motorists whom he knew to be at least two days in advance of the Roadster. And this resolution he carried into prompt action.
It was just sunrise when he arose. Freddy Perth responded instantly to his call. Gaines still slept and was left undisturbed while a tiny gasoline stove was excavated from the depths of a bale of baggage and breakfast preparations started. Perth had a long walk to obtain water, but returned bringing some fresh eggs the kind farmer's wife had offered him, as well; and when Soapy was at last summoned to arise he found coffee boiling and the morning meal just ready.
A night's rest had improved the temper of the genial Mr. Gaines, temporarily, at least. Although indulging in a deal of growling over the lack of bathing facilities, which were, in fact, noticeably wanting, he "felt like a lark." At least he said so, and perhaps he did. For a creature of that description could hardly be expected to lend a hand at packing baggage away, pumping up a tire from which considerable air had escaped, or anything of the kind; and certain it is that Soapy did not.
The day's running of the Trio was through a wealthy farming section. Often they stopped to inquire if the Auto Boys had passed that way, and, as the well-loaded touring car and its four youthful passengers had been noticed by many, they found in this well populated region no want of information. Even after the pike was left behind and a sparsely settled section encountered, it was still no task to learn at one poor dwelling or another the direction the Auto Boys had traveled and the time, even to the approximate minute, when they had passed.
The sight of an automobile was not a frequent occurrence in these parts. The way the horses shied here, in contrast with the little heed they gave the machines nearer the towns, was sufficient proof of this. The people, too, had paid vastly more attention to the touring car, as they also looked much more curiously at the Roadster here than had been the case on more prominent thoroughfares.
So did the three lads find their spirits rising. Or, it might be more accurate to say, so did two of them make such observation; for when the prospect of simply crackers, coffee and cheese for lunch developed, Mr. Soapy Gaines sank into a sullen rage which continued until evening. He was like a volcano during such periods—smoldering constantly, but emitting flame and fury at quite frequent intervals.
If any of the boys still seriously considered their flight from Gouger's stable as likely to make them trouble, they did not show it. Fully believing their captor to have been a properly authorized officer, they understood their offense in escaping him to be much more serious than the mere charge of exceeding a speed limit would be. Once Fred suggested that it would have been better to have submitted to the arrest and paid their fine, that they might have proceeded on without fear of further molestation; but to this there came from Gaines so violent an eruption, in answer, that he pursued the subject no further.
Very well did Fred know, however, that at any point along the road, at any spot, whether they might be in Queensville or at the races, at any time of night or day, the charge "fugitives from justice," might have to be faced. Perfectly well did Pickton, also, understand this to be the very unpleasant situation, though he grew boldly confident such complications would not arise as Sagersgrove fell farther and farther to the rear.
And on the whole it was extremely fortunate for the Trio that Eli Gouger was far from being a regularly constituted officer of the law. It certainly would have been an immense relief to the inner consciences of Perth and Pickton had they known this. Perhaps it was because Soapy was too positively stupid to comprehend the situation fully that, except for the ridiculous part he had played in the affair, he would have considered the escape from the barn as a particularly bright and clever piece of work.
As nearly as the three boys could learn, they were within fifty miles of Queensville when lights began appearing in the windows of the few houses they passed, as twilight overtook them.
"Got to find beds sooner or later and why not in the first good camping place?" Pickton suggested. "Cost less here than in town, even if we reached there all right."
"Yes! See if you can't find a bloomin', thorny hedge and both of you jump into it," came from Gaines, explosively.
"'And when he saw his eyes were out, with all his might and mainHe jumped into the bramble bush and scratched 'em in again,'"
"'And when he saw his eyes were out, with all his might and mainHe jumped into the bramble bush and scratched 'em in again,'"
quoted Pickton with a laugh. For an hour he had been trying in vain to rally Soapy into a better humor. But that young gentleman making no response to this pleasant sally, Tom turned to Fred, on the rumble seat, saying: "You try to get some eggs and ham and bread, or whatever you can at the next house we come to and we'll go into camp right off. Blamed pity, though, we didn't make Queensville."
"Blamed pity we didn't get bacon and dried beef—any old thing—at that last cross-roads store, as I wanted to," was the answer. "I don't relish walking into strange yards and nobody knows how many dogs ready to take your leg off, any better than you do. And after dark, too!"
Nevertheless Fred did consent to try for provisions at the next dwelling and succeeded in buying a loaf of heavy, dark bread, a chunk of salt pork and a two-quart measure of potatoes. Moreover, the man of the house, a great, swarthy, black-bearded fellow, returned with him, volunteering to show the way to a suitable camping place.
Pickton was far from favorably impressed by the looks of the man or with his deep, gruff voice. Gaines was plainly frightened. However, Fred seemed to have become quite well acquainted with the stranger at once and the two talked and walked together, as the man led the way forward.
Pickton drove up slowly, behind, and in a little while crossed a small bridge spanning what appeared to be a nearly dry water course. But just beyond this the party was conducted over another bridge, a small affair of light timbers, erected over the wide, deep gutter at the roadside. The heavy car caused the flimsy structure to sag threateningly, and remembering the predicament following Mr. Gouger's leadership, Pick liked less and less the piloting of the black-bearded stranger.
It was now entirely dark. The car's headlights showed no road ahead—only the closely-cropped grass of a pasture with here and there clumps of brush and weeds. It was a wild enough appearing place, indeed, to have caused older men than these lads to look askance before proceeding further.
"Right ahead here, bub! It's only a shortish piece," the stranger called.
There was nothing for it but to follow or name a reason for not doing so. Tom allowed the machine to creep forward, though Gaines whispered, "We'll be murdered and robbed, that's what we'll be!" It was a real relief to both when Perth's voice came back through the darkness a few seconds later, "Come on up with the car. Here we are, and it's first-class."
Almost immediately the headlights shone upon an open space under some chestnut trees. It was at the foot of a steep rise of ground. Here the small stream crossing the road, just below, formed a deep, narrow pool, clear and cool. Fallen limbs and branches of a giant chestnut long since dead and now dry as tinder, lay here and there, affording the finest sort of firewood. The short, velvety grass beneath the thick foliage of the living trees was like a lawn and in all respects the conditions presented a splendid camp location.
"Ye'll want a fire the first thing," the black-bearded fellow said, and at once collected an armful of the dry wood. "Now ye can peel yer taters an' cook 'em like a ding-dang. Fry yer pork, too! Got a skillet?" said he, as the bright blaze he started flamed up.
And upon being assured that everything needful was at hand, the stranger bade the party good-night and strode away. A minute later his heavy foot-falls upon the light wooden bridge over the ditch were heard. And although by this time the boys were inclined to believe he meant them nothing but kindness, it was a relief to have him out of sight and hearing.
Late as it was, Fred proposed a hearty supper. All were hungry and Gaines and Pickton found the suggestion quite agreeable, the latter making the reservation, however, that he'd "be blamed" if he was going to wash any dishes afterward. The remark was quite like Soapy, all through. Also, much as he sniffed and, in Fred's language, "turned up his nose" at the salt pork, he ate heartily, not to say greedily, of that fare, though the meat and potatoes were scarcely more than half cooked.
Whatever other faults he may have had, Pickton never objected to doing a fair share of work. He fell to at the dish washing while Perth opened up blankets for the night. The campfire was very cheerful, though the gasoline stove of their outfit had been found more convenient for cooking, for all three lads lacked a broad camping experience. So more wood was brought to keep the fire blazing, and in all the odd chores performed, necessary or otherwise, the sum total of Mr. Soapy Games' contribution to the labor was the opening of his own suit case to find a clean shirt he wished to put on in the morning.
Although their supper and a vigorous washing of dusty, dirty hands and faces (which, quite contrary to precedent, followed rather than preceded their repast), had made each member of the Trio more optimistic than they had lately been, they still felt apprehensive concerning the swarthy giant of a fellow on whose land they were. Fred insisted that he meant only kindness, but when asked why the man should want to be more than decently civil to utter strangers, he could only answer, "Good Samaritan!"
All night long Pickton scarcely slept, so doubtful of Mr. Blackbeard's seemingly good intentions was he. Gaines had merely said, "Well, you fellows have got to keep your eyes open. I sleep sound as a bat and would never wake up no matter what happened." Then he had growled a great deal about the quality of his bed until at last he was snoring tremendously.
Perth's confidence in the "Good Samaritan" gave him a sense of real security and he dozed off quickly. And in the meantime Mr. Blackbeard himself had returned to his homely, unpainted house and sat himself down with Mrs. Blackbeard on the kitchen doorstep.
"Likely young fellers," said he. "Might have asked 'em into the house but they'd probably rather sleep out. Beat's all where some folks get all the money, Lizzie!" His tone was one of wonder, rather than complaint. "Here's them snips of young shavers tearin' over the country havin' a good time while you,—you that's worth a hay-rack load of 'em, ain't got a fairly good go-to-meetin' gingham dress, an' won't have till we sell the wheat that ain't hardly mor'n headed out yet. Beat's all, don't it?"
"Well, well, it's all right, John! Everybody has their good times, accordin' to their different ways an' means," the woman answered simply. "We have ours an' plenty enough to be thankful for, every day of our lives."
The whole of which goes to show that for every Eli Gouger in the world there is somewhere a true and honest, manly man bringing the general average up. Also, that big, generous hearts are often found in rough exteriors, and some of earth's truest nobility dwelling in obscure places. But—
"Gee Whiz! This is another day!" exclaimed Freddy Perth, several hours later, sitting up suddenly to find the sunlight filtering in through the chestnut branches.
And, quite remarkable as he seemed to think it, it was.
It was Sunday morning in Camp Golden. The name had been bestowed by Paul, always fond of the high-sounding or romantic. And although David, with customary pessimism, proposed that the broad, shelving ledge be called "Camp Golden—It's-Barely-Possible" instead, Jones' suggestion was accepted; partly because no one cared, in particular; partly because his name possessed euphony, if not positive significance.
Anyway, Sunday morning it was and breakfast of coffee, corn cakes and bacon, with strawberries after, rather than before the principal part of the meal, was just over. The Auto Boys, in various attitudes of ease, made no immediate haste to clear away the dishes.
Paul Jones sat on a cushion on the ground, with legs crossed like a tailor on his bench. Billy made himself comfortable, on a convenient box, both hands clasped around an up-turned knee—a favorite attitude of his,—while Phil and Dave in equally unconventional positions occupied camp stools. Their places were at opposite sides of an old-time trunk which, turned half over, served as a table. Newspapers—quickly disposed of in the fire when soiled,—no need towash them—did duty as a tablecloth.
It was a cheerful, pleasant scene, there amid the shade and sunshine and green leaves. A low tent was erected with its back to the rocky cliff at the rear of the ledge. Here were accommodated two beds of hemlock twigs spread upon the ground and covered with blankets, also a box which, in addition to holding wearing apparel and the like, served as a kind of center table. Its lid was pretty well littered with an assortment of young gentlemen's belongings this morning—an odd mixture of neckties, collars, socks, clothes-brush, shoe brush, a revolver, fishing tackle, a hatchet and a bottle of olives. Larger items of wearing apparel hung on a line along the tent's rear wall.
In the shallow cave shelves formed by building up broad, flat stones like a series of steps, accommodated sundry tinware, dishes and canned provisions. A perfect cooling system, made by diverting a part of the water from the spring to a small excavation in the gravelly floor of the cave, afforded proper storage for a crock of butter and a pitcher of milk set down in the little pool. Here, also, a bucket of other provisions of a perishable nature was similarly disposed. Not even the famous spring-houses of early days could have been more serviceable or delightful.
The campfire was placed not quite in front of the tent, as the custom is if prevailing winds do not blow the smoke in, but quite to one side. It was the width of the ledge, rather than the winds, however, which in this instance made desirable the location chosen. It would not do for Chef Billy to have to work at the extreme edge of the declivity that broke sharply down to the valley below—the "jumping off place," Jones called it.
The improvised table was almost directly in front of the tent, but slightly toward the right, the fire being on the left. Still further to the right was a rough shelter for the car made of poles with a tarpaulin and sundry green branches spread over them. Here were stored, likewise, a couple of axes—brought all the way from the Retreat in Gleason's ravine—and numerous other tools, spades and a pickaxe included.
"And now we're so comfortably settled, the pity is it's Sunday, and—"
"And we told the folks we'd keep track of the days of the week, and they sort of took it for granted from that that we'd observe the seventh," broke in Phil Way, finishing the sentence Billy Worth began. "Pretty good day to write some letters home, for one thing. And those other matters you may have in mind, such as certain things that have been in the woods, all undisturbed for a good many years, will probably keep till to-morrow."
"If there had just been a text announced we'd have had a regular sermon already," quoth Paul Jones, with that inimitable grin that made his plain, freckled face delightfully attractive.
"Why, if a text is all you want, I'll give you one," spoke Way instantly. "It isn't from the Bible but is a good text, anyway. 'To thine own self be true.' It means just this: That we should not, away off here in the wilderness, and no fellow should when away by himself anywhere, be any less decent and respectable than he would be where everybody knows all that is going on. It means enough more than this, but the point for us is that it is just as much Sunday here as it is at home. We'll be civilized."
"Well, that is a sure-enough sermon and a pretty good one, too," said MacLester, quite soberly. "We'll sing something, and it will be the same as going to church, almost."
Dave liked singing at any time, it may be remarked parenthetically, and his bass and Paul's tenor did make the vocal efforts of the quartette very pleasing. So now they sang "America," "Lead, Kindly Light," "The Old Oaken Bucket," "Onward, Christian Soldiers," and "Tenting on the Old Camp Ground." And although it must be admitted that their selections were of wide variety, they were all full of the spirit of love, thanksgiving and kindness and certainly not the slightest irreverence was intended if any there was.
"No, sir! We'll sing no more till the dishes are washed and the camp, to say nothing of ourselves, put in some kind of order," announced Billy Worth in answer to Dave's, "What else do we all know?" He began a rapid collection of the tin plates, cups and the like, but suddenly paused.
"Automobile!" cried Paul at the same instant.
All four boys rushed to an extreme point of the ledge, which commanded a partial view of the public road. Again the horn of a car sounded and they were just in time to see a heavy roadster, laden with traps and baggage and three lads of their own age as passengers, sweep over the bridge and, more slowly, up the stiff rise beyond.
"Pickton and Gaines and Perth!" cried Worth in astonishment. "And—"
"What do you know about that?" demanded Mr. Paul Jones in similar tones; and again he said, "Whatdoyou know about that?"—not, apparently, because he had reason to suppose that any of his friends had information pertaining especially to the Chosen Trio, or even because he expected to gain intelligence of any description. Perhaps he really looked for no answer to his inquiry. (In which case it would be difficult to say just why he made it.) At any rate he received none.
"Well, sir, I never thought they'd have the gumption to carry out their scheme of following after us," was Phil's comment. "If they only knew how close they were just a minute ago!"
"Wouldn't make much difference," observed MacLester, dryly. "They'll locate us now, but if we keep our wits about us they won't locate anything else."
"Nothing of the kind!" Worth ejaculated. "Their hustling by so fast is good enough evidence that they think we are still on ahead somewhere. They'll never think of this woods, but likely only of the races."
"Sure thing!" put in Paul Jones, in his very positive, opinionated way. "Nothing to it but keep out of their sight. They'll go clear through to Queensville, likely. In three days more the whole county around the race course will be alive with strange automobiles. They'll never get a line on us if we keep out of sight. Simply means we've got to watch them some, though, so's to be suretheyaren't watchingus."
"Maybe wehadbetter look into what they're doing," Phil acquiesced and all heartily agreed. The fun of the situation, a hide-and-seek game in automobiles with the whole vicinity of the Gold Cup race course—a stretch of territory twenty-five miles in length and as many broad—as the grounds of action, appealed instantly to each one.
The best part of it, too, was that the Chosen Trio were "It"—the ones who must do the searching. The desirable side of the game, as the ones who were hunted, had fallen to the Auto Boys. Believing as they did, that their hiding place was reasonably secure against discovery, too, and there being never a rule of play to require them to call out or give any sort of clue to their whereabouts, the prospect became all the more interesting to the lads as they talked it over.
One thing of which all four boys assured one another was that they had too much at stake to incur any sort of risk of their camp being found. Also, they were agreed, there must be no underestimating of the resourcefulness and cunning of the Trio. It was really surprising that the latter had succeeded so well thus far in finding the route the Thirty traversed. Their evident perseverance in doing so was, as well, ample indication of their serious intention to do all they threatened—find out the meaning of the mysterious expedition and play mischief with that undertaking generally.
All day Saturday the Auto Boys had spent in erecting their permanent camp and in establishing connections for such part of their food supply as they could best obtain from some farm. The latter had not been easily accomplished. There was little cultivated land in the immediate neighborhood of the great woods. The nearest farmhouse was a half-mile away and the next one an equal distance beyond.
Unluckily, too, it had been found necessary to go to the second of the farms in order to obtain milk. It would mean a two-mile tramp each morning, there and back. Either this or a trip in the car, and on account of the rough ground between the camp and the public road, the latter method was hardly desirable, as a daily practice.
Aside from this inconvenience the young campers were highly pleased with their location. They had yet to make arrangements for sending and receiving mail, but this they had planned to do on Sunday afternoon. Their letters home having been written, the most convenient grocery or other source of general supplies discovered, and all the odd tasks incident to getting settled cleared away, they would be ready on Monday morning, they planned, to begin the long contemplated attack upon the secrets of the great, silent woods.
But now had come the unexpected arrival of Messrs. Gaines, Pickton and Perth much nearer these scenes than any of the four friends had supposed they ever would be. It might make an entire revision of the program necessary.
"As to that same, we shall see," said Billy Worth, looking up from the letter writing on which, barring numerous interruptions, all were engaged.
"How d'ye spell 'barnacles'?" demanded Paul Jones, insistently, the same moment.
"Huh! Barnacles! I'll bet that's the Trio," laughed Billy.
"Lot Jones knows about barnacles," sniffed MacLester.
"That so? Listen to my letter: 'The insectivorous barnacles on the face of nature'—meaning Gaines and his bunch, of course—'them would-be cutaneous young billy goats'—meaning Gaines and the rest again—'have hurled their preposterous physiognomy unfrequented and unbid into this locality.'"
A merry laugh greeted Paul's conclusion and he grinned his own delight with himself.
"Still, I bet he don't know what a barnacle is," persisted Dave with good-natured derision.
"Why, you certain species of shell fish! What do you mean by your insolence?" demanded Jones, with mock dignity. "Barnacles—from the Latin word 'barn,' meaning a kind of stable, and the Greek word 'culls,' meaning an inferior kind of anything. Together, then, barnacles—an inferior kind of stable, a—a pig sty, say? So there you have it; but you might have let it go without forcing me to use such a low word as 'pigs' in the presence of gentlemen, just to make myself clear in your laborious mental processes."
Phil and Billy laughed at this sally but went on with their writing. Dave must give one return shot, and it was:
"Jones, if words were water, you'd have been drowned long ago. The way you flounder around in 'em makes me think of a tumble bug climbing upstairs backwards."
Paul responded only with a solemn "Pooh! pooh!" as if he could not take time to notice seriously any such childish prattle. And while it must be admitted that there was nothing at all brilliant or elevating in the exchange of youthful repartee that had taken place, who shall say that both did not profit by it?
They had made each his thrust and parry and, give or take, without a thought of losing temper. They had had a few seconds' practice in quick thinking, which is always desirable. The whole difference between a brain of snap and vim and one both slow and dull, is likely to lie in practice in rapid, accurate work, or the lack of such training, rather than in an original difference in capacity.
Yet it must not be supposed that even Paul and Dave were constantly in an offensive and defensive attitude toward one another. That would never have done at all. Sooner or later such a manner would have become irritating. The tongue whose words are too frequently sharp, or by constant habit, other than kind and considerate, will make trouble inevitably.
By themselves Jones and MacLester rarely indulged in such exchange as that of this morning. The fun of it was lacking when Phil and Billy were not by to serve as an audience. Alone together, the two were harmonious as could be. They were much more apt to differ at other times. An instance when they did not, however, occurred directly after the verbal contest lately recorded.
"We will make a run to Queensville, get a light lunch there and have dinner in camp to-night," remarked Chef Billy, sealing the letter he had written. He brought his fist down with a whack upon the envelope, not for sake of emphasis but to make sure of the flap being fast.
"Aw, Bill! I'm most starvednow!" protested Paul.
"Here, too!" MacLester urged. "Something in this air seems to make a fellow want to eat all the time."
"Well, the point is, we've got to be starting. It's nearly noon," Worth answered.
"Yes, that's so," Phil Way agreed. "Maybe we better have an egg sandwich or something like that, all around, and it will do for now."
"Sure!" chirped Jones, emphatically. "Stuff will only spoil if we don't eat it up."
"Risk anything spoiling around here," was Billy's earnest comment; but he ordered that frying-pan and eggs be brought him forthwith, while he proceeded to rake together the remnants of the fire.
The route to Queensville was, for the first part, straight ahead upon the road bordering the Ship woods. Six miles distant, westerly, this road effected a junction with a thoroughfare running to north and south. Distant a mile or two, in the former direction, was the direct road to Queensville. This and the north and south road were both a part of the twenty-six-mile race circuit.
It was easy to locate the road to Queensville once Gilroy, with its one general store, half dozen straggling dwellings, a church, a school and blacksmith shop, was reached, for numerous automobiles were traversing the course of the races in both directions. And how the Auto Boys scanned every car! And what a collection of machines it was!—Runabouts, roadsters and nondescript contrivances, the identity of the manufacturers of which even Billy Worth could not determine. Some had been rebuilt in one way, some another and some were of strictly home production. But among all the cars, fine and otherwise, the lumbering black and gray Roadster Mr. Soapy Gaines called his own, was not seen.
In a quiet side street of Queensville the four friends left the Thirty. They were but a few steps from the main thoroughfare upon which the business section was situated, and directly before them, as they turned into the street was a sign: "Alameda Headquarters."
"Here's one of the likely cars, now," exclaimed Phil. "Jim Wilder, cousin of our Mr. Wilder at home, drives her and he's great, they say!" He would have added: "Let's see what they're doing," but already Billy, Dave and Paul had hastened forward, bent on that very mission.
As the lads approached, the crowd about the entrance to the building surged suddenly away and, waving his hand to all to stand back, a man in overalls and jumper pulled the heavy door about and it swung shut with a bang. The curious ones thus barred from further view of what was within—the racing car and drivers, probably—formed an assemblage so dense that those nearest the door were not visible to the Auto Boys, at the edge of the gathering. But immediately the people began dispersing. A minute later, through the thinning ranks, Paul Jones suddenly discovered the Chosen Trio.
He had just time to whisper and, with his friends, slip back of a group near the curbing when Gaines, Pickton and Perth passed at the inner side of the walk. There appeared no room to doubt the Trio would go straight forward and, when they were fairly beyond the crowd, Billy and Phil, still watching them, stepped back into the open to get a better view.
The movement was unfortunate. Freddy Perth chanced to turn and his eyes rested at once upon the lads. With a gay laugh he caught the hands of Pickton and Gaines, wheeling them around. Pointing with his thumb, his arm half outstretched:
"How do youdo-o-o?" he called triumphantly to the crestfallen Way and Worth.
"Hello!" Phil responded with a frown, but looking about as if to see how Billy was bearing up, he was astonished to find himself alone.
Phil's "hello!" was none too cordial, but glad under any circumstances to meet someone from home, and quite overjoyed to show the Auto Boys that the Chosen Trio were on the spot, Perth was hastening forward.
Again Way looked anxiously in all directions, trying vainly to learn whence his friends had so mysteriously fled. No sight or sound of them could he discover.
"Got your car running again sooner'n you expected, didn't you?" grinned Freddy, coming close up. "When did you get in?"
"Not sooner thanweexpected—sooner thanyouexpected, wasn't it?" responded Phil. "Haven't been here long. You came in this morning."
"How'd you know?" Perth demanded with a searching look.
"Bird told me," Phil smiled. "Where you staying?"
"Ask the bird that, too!" grinned Freddy.
"Well, see you later. Be here for the races, I take it," Way laughed, not at all put out by Perth's adroit reply to his own question. With a little wave of the hand he walked quickly away; but a glance over his shoulder a minute later assured him that Perth, Gaines and Pickton were following not far behind. The latter two had loitered in the background while the conversation with Fred was taking place.
If Phil was astonished to find himself so unexpectedly alone, it was apparent that the Trio were scarcely less so. Perth was certain he had seen Billy Worth at the same moment he had first seen Way. What had become of Billy and where were Dave and Paul?
Phil, himself, would have given something at this particular moment to have been able to answer these questions. Meanwhile it was obvious his first task was to escape from the three who followed. Where was Gaines' Roadster? If he could lead the Trio far enough from their car that they would not have that means of pursuit, it might be that Billy and the rest would come along in the Thirty, pick him up and thus enable all to make their escape quite readily.
Acting on this thought, Phil turned into the first residence street intersecting Main, the business thoroughfare. Even now he was but a few blocks distant from where the Thirty had been left. Surely, he reasoned, some one of his friends would be watching the direction he took. One of them would manage, some way, to get into communication with him, even if they did not come dashing up with the machine and effect his rescue.
Was it an instance of telepathy—the action of Billy's mind, or Paul's or Dave's or of all three, upon Phil Way's—that caused the latter to think of a sudden, rapid dash in the car, after the Trio had been led a safe distance from their own machine, as a likely means of escaping them? Such a thing is not impossible. It is not, indeed, improbable. And yet, although stranger instances of thought transference have been fully proved, it may have been after all only a coincidence that the plan that came into Phil's mind was exactly the one Billy Worth suggested to Paul and David and which they prepared to put into execution.
Very luckily had Worth made a dive into the crowd the moment he found himself and Phil observed by Freddy Perth. Thinking Way followed, he called with a quick gasp to MacLester and Jones and darted into an open stairway. Quickly as they could the three ran up the steps into a narrow hall on the second floor.
A window was open toward the street and Worth was not long in discovering how to put it to good use. In dismay he saw, with Paul and Dave peeping out over his shoulder, that Phil had fallen fairly into the enemy's hands. He could not hear the words exchanged with Perth, but realized how mystified Way was as he waved his hand and walked away.
"Of course they'll follow. Won't let him get out of their sight!" ejaculated Billy. "We've got to make a grand rush in the machine and get Phil away from them before they know what's happened."
"Just let him lead them quite a stretch away. Gaines' car is probably right near here," Paul put in, eagerly.
The suggestion was adopted. Then Jones volunteered to keep Way and the enemy both in sight while Billy and Dave brought the Thirty up.
Ten minutes later there was a sudden blast of a flying automobile's horn in one of Queensville's quiet streets. In another instant the car had slackened speed and a young man rushed from the sidewalk and climbed aboard. Like a flash the machine sped forward again, followed by a series of angry, disappointed yells from three other youths who also dashed out from the sidewalk as if they had thought of going along.
A good many people observing the rather mysterious performance, as they sat upon their lawns and porches, or strolled on the street, were decidedly at a loss to know what to make of it all.
"Oh, I guess we're no wizards at all! No, nothing like that! No wizards about us! Not at all!" chuckled Paul Jones in a perfect rapture of delight. "No, we're nowizards!"
And although Philip, William and David expressed themselves in somewhat different language, it was apparent that they, too, entertained pretty much the same opinion as the highly elated Mr. Jones with regard to their being "No wizards, at all," whatever that may signify.
Yet now that the Chosen Trio had been again outwitted and again left behind, temporarily at least, there remained the problem of keeping well beyond their sight and reach. To do this and to do it without permitting those persistent young gentlemen to bar the Thirty from entering the limits of Queensville was no small undertaking.
The town was of only a few thousand population, and even now when filled with strangers and with strange automobiles from the larger cities near by, it was apparent that at any moment the four friends appeared on the principal streets they might expect to meet the very persons they most wished to avoid.
MacLester emphatically declared himself in favor of letting the Trio "go hang." If they "wanted to tag along clear to the Ship woods," he did not care. They'd have principally their trouble for their pains. All they might discover as to the object of the expedition and the camp in that out-of-the-way place, would not, according to young Mr. MacLester's way of stating it, "Make 'em wise enough to hurt 'em." Whatever the reports they carried back to Lannington, no one would give them much credence anyway, he declared.
But Phil Way sturdily opposed any such surrender. The original determination to keep the real purpose of this long journey a secret could not be abandoned now, he argued, without a practical admission that Gaines and his followers had been too clever for them. Billy and Paul stood resolutely with Way. Meanwhile the Thirty had been traversing one dusty, unpaved street after another in the town's outskirts.
"They'll never be expecting to see us again to-day. Let's go back down town. If we keep our eyes open, we'll see them first, and that's all that's necessary," proposed Worth; and, being himself at the wheel, he turned the car toward the business district.
From no source came an objection. In ten minutes the machine was again standing just where it had been left before. Quite contrary to the expectations of the boys, also, they saw nothing whatever of the Trio, though they spent an hour looking about the little city and observing the hundreds of visitors.
Some had come, it appeared, simply for the day, to see the preparations for the great road races. Many were present because of a direct interest in the contests in one way or another and would remain until all was over. Racing drivers and the builders of their cars, automobile salesmen, tire men, newspaper men from many cities—motoring enthusiasts of a score of sorts and a hundred degrees of significance, from the young fellow who expected to own a runabout some day to the engineer who designed and would drive the most popular machine in the heavy car race—they were on the streets, in the hotels, thronging everywhere.
On barns, fences, trees, posts—anything that offered a chance to drive a nail, were signs, banners and all sorts of advertising matter. One might find himself informed on one post that he must use "Heapa" oil or be miserable for life. The very next post would tell him if he did not use "Slickem" oil he'd be sorry forever. And as the really quite conflicting announcements, admonitions, claims and assertions were in great variety and multiplied many times by their frequent repetition, any gentleman who might have set out to be guided by them would surely have had a serious time of it and have landed in a padded cell somewhere, sooner or later, undoubtedly.
In addition to the cosmopolitan character of the crowds—to say nothing of the diversity of the advertising posters and signs—were the town's decorations of flags and bunting everywhere. Then a band played on the steps of the Court House, in the heart of the little city, and the music, the chugging of engines, the confusion and excitement, the very odors—for where is the real motoring enthusiast who dislikes the smell of diffused gasoline fumes?—made a deep impression upon the Auto Boys. It is very much to be feared, indeed, that they started for Camp Golden at last much more intent upon seeing the races the following Saturday than upon delving into the secrets of the Ship woods the following morning.
By taking the longer route, followed by the race course, around to Gilroy, in going home, the four friends finished a complete circuit of the roads chosen for the stock car contest. In going to Queensville, it will be remembered, they turned due north and later almost directly west upon reaching the course, directly in front of the Gilroy post-office. From Queensville they ran almost directly south, thence east, northeast and north to Gilroy again.
The geographical situations of Camp Golden, Gilroy and Queensville the reader should have well in mind. Let him imagine a series of country roads forming a great, irregularly-shaped dipper. The handle is the road passing the Ship woods. Where the handle joins the dipper itself, six miles west of the Auto Boys' camp, is Gilroy, a crude little country hamlet—no more. The rim of the dipper represents the roads making up the racing circuit. Nearly half way around, to the right, that is, north, thence west from Gilroy, is Queensville—twelve miles distant. Continuing on around the rim is the little town of Chester, three miles beyond Queensville.
The "Ambulance station,"—a desperately sharp curve—marks the turn of the course to the east again, two miles further on. Then the edge of the dipper becomes very irregular as the road winds in and out through a wooded country, until at Far Creek Sawmill it strikes off due north. Four miles ahead is Gilroy again, which hamlet, by this way around, is fourteen miles from Queensville.
Much work had been done on the roads comprising the racing circuit to put them in condition, and as Phil Way remarked, on the homeward trip this Sunday afternoon, "There was certainly going to be some excitement." Yet little he guessed how much more than excitement, merely, was in store for himself and his friends.
"I'll bet thereis," quoth Billy Worth, answering Way's remark. "It'll be some exciting, for instance, about the time we meet Gaines' Roadster somewhere around the track. That very choice Trio will be out every day, more or less, and whether we go one way or the other, it will be pure luck and nothing else if we don't come face to face with them some time before the races are over."
And Billy's view of the matter was nothing if not plausible. There was no way of reaching Queensville from the camp without following the course of the proposed races. There was no cross road leading even in the direction of that town. By a very long detour the result named might possibly be accomplished, it was true, but it would be like going from New York to Philadelphia by way of Albany and Harrisburg.
This Sunday afternoon it was most fortunate for the Auto Boys that they chose to complete the circuit the races would follow, when leaving Queensville for Camp Golden. Had they gone the other way a meeting with the Trio would have been certain, for that select company of young gentlemen spent several hours on the opposite side of the course vainly watching.
Guided only by the direction the Thirty had taken after the rescue of Phil Way, Gaines and his associates had set out in pursuit as rapidly as possible. Until dark they haunted the road to the north and east. Their utter lack of success was quite annoying.
In fact, Mr. Soapy Gaines became so irritated that his company could scarcely be called enchanting; unless, indeed, one were possessed of the peculiarity of enjoying being called a "crazy snapping turtle" and other like names, not well chosen, at least, if intended as terms of endearment. But as to Soapy's ruffled temper and conduct generally there will be opportunity for observation later. At this moment attention should return more directly to the Auto Boys.
"If we hadn't spent a whole half-day chasing around Queensville and back again, we might have had a good walk in the woods and maybe we would have found those three stones," growled Dave MacLester, toasting his hands over the campfire, for the evening had come on quite cold.
"Never mind, little one, never mind! You'll feel better after you've had your supper. Your poor, 'ittle tummy wants something. You'll feel better pretty soon." This language in a soft, fatherly tone from Paul Jones caused a smile. Even David smiled, too, for directly afterward Chef Billy announced the evening meal.
It was a pleasant thing to sit before the glowing fire, enjoying toasted crackers and toasted cheese after the major portion of the supper—baked beans, baked potatoes and bacon, and coffee, of course—was over. It was a pleasant thing to creep under the blankets in the tent, luxuriously tired, an hour and a half later.
Most exquisitely pleasant was it, also, to lie snug and comfortable listening to the tinkle of the little spring where the water flowed over the miniature cataract leading to the cleverly devised cooling system, and so to fall asleep at last.