Disappointment, and not a little worriment, held the four girls silent for a moment. Then Betty, feeling that it was her place to assume the leadership, said:
"Are you sure, little boy? A man told us, at the last dividing of the roads, to take the left, as that led to Rockford."
"Well, he didn't know what he was talking about," asserted the little chap, with the supreme confidence of youth. "To get to Rockford you've got to go back."
"All that distance?" cried Grace. "We'll never make it in time."
"Isn't there a shorter way—some cross-road we can take?" inquired Betty.
"Who's got the candy?" inquired the little chap, evidently thinking that he had already earned some reward.
"Here!" said Grace, hopelessly, holding out an almost emptied box. "But please—pleasedon't tell us we're lost."
"Oh, you ain't exactly lost!" exclaimed the urchin, with a grin. "I live just down the road a piece, and it's only a mile to Bakersville. That's a good town. They got a movin' picture show there. I went onct!"
"Did you indeed?" said Betty. "But we can't go there. Isn't there some way of getting to Rockford without going all the way back to the fork? Why, it's miles and miles!"
"I wish I had that man here who directed us wrongly!" exclaimed Mollie, with a flash of her dark eyes. "I—I'd make him get a carriage and drive us to your aunt's house, Betty."
"That would not be revenge enough," declared Grace. "He ought to be made to buy us each a box of the best chocolates."
"Nothing like making the punishment fit the crime," murmured Betty.
"Say, are you play-actors?" demanded the boy, who had stood in opened-mouth wonder during this dialogue. The girls broke into peals of merry laughter that, in a measure, served to relieve the tension on their nerves.
"Now do please tell us how to get to Rockford?" begged Mollie when they had quieted down. "We must be there to-night."
"Well, you kin git there by goin' on a mile further and taking the main road that goes through Sayreville," said the boy, his mouth full of candy.
"Would that be nearer than going back to where we made the mistake?"Betty asked.
"Yep, a lot nearer. Come on; I'll show you as far as I'm goin'," and the boy started off as though the task—or shall I say, pleasure?—of leading four pretty girls was an every-day occurrence.
"We never can get there before dark," declared Mollie.
"Oh, yes, we will," said Betty, hopefully. "We can walk faster than this."
"If you do I'll simply give up," wailed Grace. "These shoes!" and she leaned against a tree.
And to the eternal credit of the other girls be it said that they did not remark: "I told you so!"
Silently and unconcernedly, the snub-nosed boy led them on. Finally he came to his own home, and rather ungallantly, did not offer to go farther.
"You jest keep on for about half a mile," he said, "an' you'll come to a cross-road."
"I hope it isn't too cross," murmured Grace, with a grave face.
"Huh?"
The boy looked at her wonderingly.
"I mean not cross enough to bite," she went on.
"You turn to the left," the boy continued, "and keep straight on till you get to Watson's Corners. Then you turn to the right, keep on past an old stone church, turn to the right and that's a straight road to Rockford." He looked curiously at Grace, as though in doubt as to her sanity. "A cross road!" he murmured.
"Gracious, we'll never remember all that!" exclaimed Amy.
"I have it down!" said practical Betty, as she wrote rapidly in her note book. "I'm sure we can find it. Come on, girls!"
"Have another candy," invited Grace, hospitably extending the now nearly depleted box.
"Sure—thanks!" exclaimed the boy, but he backed quickly away from her.Her joke had fallen on a suspicious mind, evidently.
The girls trudged on, rather silent now, for somehow the edge of their enjoyment seemed to have been taken off. But still they were not discouraged. They were true outdoor girls, and they knew, even if worse came to worst, and darkness found them far from their destination, and Betty's aunt's house, that no real harm could come to them.
Successfully they found the various points of identification mentioned by the freckled boy, and at last they located a sign-post that read:
"Five miles!" exclaimed Grace, with a tragic air. "We can never do it!"
"We must!" declared Betty, firmly. "Of course we can do it. Why, even with going out of our way as we did, we won't have covered more than eighteen miles to-day. And we set twenty as an average."
"But this is the first day," said Mollie.
"We can—wemustget to Rockford to-night," insisted Betty.
Rather hopelessly they tramped on. The sun seemed to sink with surprising rapidity after getting to a certain point in the western sky.
"It's dropping faster and faster all the while!" cried Amy, as they watched it from a crest of the road.
"Never mind—June evenings are the longest of the year," consoled Betty.
They hurried on. The sun sank to its nightly rest amid a bed of golden, green, purple, pink and olive clouds, and there followed a glorious maze of colors that reached high up toward zenith.
"Girls, we simply must stop and admire this—if it's only for a minute!" exclaimed Grace. "Isn't that wonderful!" and she pointed a slender hand, beautified by exquisitely kept nails, toward the gorgeous sky picture.
"Every minute counts!" remarked practical Betty. Yet she knew better than to worry her friends.
The glow faded, and again the girls advanced. From the fields came the lowing of the cows, as they waited impatiently for the bars of the pastures to be let down. A herd of sheep was driven along the road, raising a cloud of dust. From farm houses came the barking of dogs and the not unmusical notes of conch or tin horns, summoning the "men folks" to the evening meal.
"Girls, we're never going to make it in time!" exclaimed Grace as the sky darkened. "We must see if we can't stop at one of these houses over night," and she pointed to a little hamlet they were approaching.
"Grace!" exclaimed Betty. "Aunt Sallie would be worried to death if we didn't come, after she expected us."
"Then we must send her word. I can't go another step."
They all paused irresolutely. They were in front of a big white house—a typical country home. Betty glanced toward it.
"It's too bad," she said. "I know just how you feel, and yet can we go up to one of these places, perfect strangers, and ask them to keep us over night? It doesn't seem reasonable."
"Anything is reasonable when you have to," declared Mollie. "I'll ask," she volunteered, starting toward the house. "The worst they can say is 'no,' and maybe we can hire a team to drive to Rockford, if they can't keep us. I can drive!"
"Well, we'll ask, anyhow," agreed Betty, rather hopelessly. She hardly knew what to do next.
As they advanced toward the House the savage barking of a dog was heard, and as they reached the front gate the beast came rushing down the walk, while behind him lumbered a farmer, shouting:
"Here! Come back! Down, Nero! Don't mind him, ladies!" he added. "He won't hurt you!"
But the aspect, and the savage growls and barks, of the creature seemed to indicate differently, and the girls shrank back. Betty, reaching in her bag, drew out the nearly emptied olive bottle for a weapon.
"Don't hit him! Don't hit him!" cried the farmer. "That will only make him worse! Come back here, Nero!"
"Run, girls! Run!" begged Amy. "He'll tear us to pieces!" and she turned and fled.
Probably that was the most unwise course poor Amy could have taken. Dogs, even the most savage, seldom come to a direct attack unless their prospective victim shows fear. Then, like a horse that takes advantage of a timid driver, the creature advances boldly to the attack.
It was so in this case. The other girls, not heeding Amy's frantic appeal, stood still, but she ran back toward the road, her short skirt giving her a chance to exercise her speed. The dog saw, and singling out her as the most favorable for his purposes, he leaped the fence in a great bound and rushed after the startled girl.
"Stop him! Stop him!"
"Oh, Amy!"
"If she falls!"
"I know I'm going to faint!"
"Don't you dare do it, Grace Ford!"
"Why doesn't that man keep his dog chained?"
These were only a few of the expressions that came from the lips of the girls as, horror-stricken, they watched the dog rush after poor Amy.
Never had she run so fast—not even during one of the basket ball games in which she had played, nor when they had races at the Sunday school picnic.
And, had it not been for a certain hired man, who, taking in the situation as he came on the run from the barn, acted promptly, Amy might have been severely injured. As it was the farmer's man, crossing the yard diagonally, was able to intercept the dog.
"Run to the left, Miss! Run to the left!" he cried. Then, leaping the low fence at a bound, he threw the pitchfork he carried at the dog with such skill that the handle crossed between the brute's legs and tripped it. Turning over and over in a series of somersaults, the dog's progress was sufficiently halted to enable the hired man to get to it. He took a firm grip in the collar of the dog and held on. Poor Amy stumbled a few steps farther and then Betty, recovering her scattered wits, cried out:
"All right, Amy! All right! You're in no danger!"
And Amy sank to the ground while her chums rushed toward her.
"Hold him, Zeke! Hold him!" cried the farmer, as he came lumbering up."Hold on to him!"
"That's what I'm doin'!" responded the hired man.
"Is th' gal hurted? Land sakes, I never knew Nero to act so!" went on the farmer apologetically. "He must have been teased by some of th' boys. Be you hurted, Miss?"
Pale and trembling, Amy arose. But it was very evident that she had suffered no serious harm, for the dog had not reached her, and she had simply collapsed on the grass, rather than fallen.
The dog, choking and growling, was firmly held by the hired man, who seemed to have no fear of him.
"I'm awfully sorry," said the farmer, contritely. "I never knew him to act like that."
"Some one has tied a lot of burrs on his tail," called out the hired man."That's what set him off."
"I thought so. Well, clean 'em off, and he'll behave. Poor old Nero!"
Even now the dog was quieting down, and as the hired man removed the irritating cause of the beast's anger it became even gentle, whining as though to offer excuses.
"I can't tell you how sorry I am," went on the farmer. "You're strangers around here, I take it."
"Yes," said Betty, "and we lost our way. We're going to Rockford. We must be there to-night."
"Rockford?"
"Yes, my aunt lives there."
"And who might your aunt be?"
"Mrs. Palmer."
"Bill Palmer's wife?"
"Yes, that's Uncle Will I guess," and Betty laughed.
"Pshaw now! You don't say so! Why, I know Bill well."
The farmer's wife came bustling out.
"Is the young lady hurt, Jason? What got into Nero, anyhow? I never see him behave so!"
"Oh, it was them pesky boys! No, she's not hurt."
Amy was surrounded by her chums. She was pale, and still trembling, but was fast recovering her composure.
"Won't you come in the house," invited the woman. "We're jest goin' t' set down t' supper, and I'm sure you'd like a cup of tea."
"I should love it!" murmured Grace.
"What be you—suffragists?" went on the woman, with a smile.
"That's the second time we've been taken for them to-day," murmuredBetty, "Do we look so militant?"
"You look right peart!" complimented the woman. "Do come in?"
Betty, with her eyes, questioned her chums. They nodded an assent. Really they were entitled to something it seemed after the unwarranted attack of the dog.
"We ought to be going on to Rockford," said Betty, as they strolled toward the pleasant farm house. "I don't see how we can get there now—"
"You leave that to me!" said the farmer, quickly. "I owe you something on account of the way Nero behaved. Ain't you ashamed of yourself?" he charged.
The dog crouched, whined and thumped the earth with a contrite tail. He did not need the restraining hand of the hired man now.
"Make friends," ordered the farmer. The dog approached the girls.
"Oh—don't!" begged Amy.
"He wouldn't hurt a fly," bragged the farmer. "I can't account for his meanness."
"It was them burrs," affirmed the hired man.
"Mebby so. Wa'al, young ladies, come in and make yourselves t' hum! Behave, Nero!" for now the dog was getting too friendly, leaping up and trying to solicit caresses from the girls. "That's th' way with him, one minute he's up to some mischief, an' th' next he's beggin' your, pardon. I hope you're not hurt, miss," and he looked anxiously at Amy.
"No, not at all," she assured him, with a smile that was brave and winning. "I was only frightened, that's all."
"I'm glad of that. I'll have t' tie that dog up, I guess," and he threw a little clod of earth at the now cringing animal, not hitting him, however.
"Oh, don't hurt him," pleaded Betty.
"Hurt him! He wouldn't do that, miss!" exclaimed the hired man, who now had to defend himself from the over-zealous affections of the dog. "He's too fond of him. Nero isn't a bad sort generally, only some of the boys worried him."
The girls, with the farmer and his man in the lead, walked toward the house, the woman hurrying on ahead to set more places at the table.
"I'm afraid we're troubling you too much," protested Betty.
"Oh, it's no trouble at all," the farmer assured her. "And I owe you something on account of my dog's actions."
"But really, ought we to stay?" asked Grace. "It's getting dark, Betty, and your aunt—"
"Say, young ladies!" exclaimed the farmer, "I'll fix that all right. As soon as you have a bite to eat I'll hitch up and drive you over to Rockford, to Bill Palmer's."
"Oh!" began Betty, "we couldn't think—"
She stopped, for she did not know what to say. Truly, it was quite a dilemma in which they found themselves, and they must stay somewhere that night. To remain at a strange farm house was out of the question. Perhaps this was the simplest way after all.
"It won't be any trouble at all," the farmer assured her. "I've got a fast team and a three-seated carriage. I'll have you over there in no time."
"Then perhaps we'd better not stop for supper," said Mollie. "Your aunt might be worrying, Betty, and—"
"We'll telephone her!" exclaimed the farmer. "I've got a 'phone—lots of us have around here—and I can let her know all about it. Or you can talk to her yourself," he added.
So it was arranged; and soon Betty was talking to her anxious relative over the wire. Then, after a bountiful supper, which the girls very much enjoyed, the farmer hitched up his fine team, and soon they were on their way to Mrs. Palmer's. The drive was not a long one.
"My!" exclaimed Mollie, as they bowled along over the smooth road, under a young moon that silvered the earth, "this is better than walking!"
"I should say so," agreed Grace, whose shoes hurt her more than she cared to admit.
"You are both traitors to the Club!" exclaimed Betty. "The idea of preferring riding to walking!"
"Oh, it's only once in a while," added Mollie. "Really, pet, we've had a perfectly grand time."
"Even with the dog," added Amy, who was now herself again. "I was silly to run."
"I don't blame you," said the farmer, "and yet if you hadn't, maybe Nero wouldn't have chased you. It's a good thing not to run from a dog. If you stand, it let's him see you're not afraid."
"Put that down in your books, girls," directed Betty. "Never run from a dog. That advice may come in useful on our trip."
Half an hour later they were at Mrs. Palmer's house, and received a hearty welcome, the telephone message having done much to relieve the lady's anxiety.
"Oh, but these shoes are so comfortable!"
"I'm glad of that, Grace."
"Though I didn't really delay you much; did I?"
"No, I wasn't complaining," and Betty put a caressing hand on the arm of her companion.
"We'll be able to make up for lost time now," said Mollie, as she shifted her little valise from one hand to the other. "Your aunt was certainly generous in the matter of lunch, Betty," she went on.
"Yes, she said this country air would give us good appetites."
"I'm sure I don't need any," spoke Amy. "I've been hungry ever since we started."
The four girls were again on the broad highway that was splashed and spotted with the streaks of the early sun as it slanted through the elms and maples along the road. They had spent two nights at the home of Betty's aunt, that lady having insisted on a little longer visit than was at first planned. She made the girls royally welcome, as did her husband. Grace's shoes had been sent to her at Rockford, having been telephoned for.
"But if we stay another day and night here," said Betty, "not that we're not glad to, Aunt Sallie—why we can't keep up to our schedule in walking, and we must cover so many miles each day."
"You see it's in the constitution of our club," added Grace. "We can't violate that."
"Oh, come now!" insisted Mr. Palmer. "You can stay longer just as well as not. As for walking, why we've got some of the finest walks going, right around Rockford here. You'd better stay. We don't very often see you, Betty, and your aunt isn't half talked out yet," and he solemnly winked over the head of his wife.
"The idea!" she exclaimed. "As if I'd talked half as much as you had."
And so the girls had remained. They had greatly enjoyed the visit. In anticipation of their coming Mrs. Palmer had prepared "enough for a regiment of hungry boys," to quote her husband, and had invited a number of the neighboring young people to meet the members of the Camping and Tramping Club.
The dainty rooms of the country house, with their quaint, old-fashioned, striped wall paper, the big four-poster beds, a relic of a by-gone generation, the mahogany dressers with their shining mirrors, and the delightful home-like atmosphere—all had combined to make the stay of the girls most pleasant.
The day after their arrival by carriage they had gone on a long walk, visiting a picturesque little glen not far from the village, being accompanied by a number of girls whose acquaintance Betty and her chums had made. Some of them Betty had met before.
The idea of a walking club was enthusiastically received by the country girls, and they at once resolved to form one like the organization started by Betty Nelson. In fact they named it after her, in spite of her protests.
In the afternoon the girls went for a drive in Mr. Palmer's big carriage, visiting places of local interest. And in the evening there was an old-fashioned "surprise party"—a real surprise too, by the way, for Betty and her chums had never dreamed of it. It was a most delightful time.
Mr. and Mrs. Palmer had tried to persuade their niece and her chums to stay still longer, but they were firm in their determination to cover the two hundred miles—more or less—in the specified time.
So they had started off, and the snatches of conversation with which I begun this chapter might have been heard as the four walked along the pleasant country road.
"We've had very good luck so far," said Mollie, as she skipped a few steps in advance on the greensward. "Not a bit of rain."
"Don't boast!" cautioned Betty. "It will be perfectly terrible if it rains. We simply can't walk if it does."
"I don't see why not," spoke Mollie, trying to catch Amy in a waltz hug and whirl her about.
"My, isn't she getting giddy!" mocked Grace.
"I feel so good!" cried Mollie, whose volatile nature seemed fairly bubbling over on this beautiful day. And indeed it was a day to call forth all the latent energies of the most phlegmatic person. The very air tingled with life that the sunshine coaxed into being, and the gentle wind further fanned it to rapidity of action. "Oh, I do feel so happy!" cried Mollie.
"I guess we all do," spoke Grace, but even as she said this she could not refrain from covertly glancing at Amy, over whose face there seemed a shade of—well, just what it was Grace could not decide. It might have been disappointment, or perhaps an unsatisfied longing. Clearly the mystery over her past had made an impression on the character of this sweet, quiet girl. But for all that she did not inflict her mood on her chums. She must have become conscious of Grace's quick scrutiny, for with a laugh she ran to her, and soon the two were bobbing about on the uneven turf in what they were pleased to term a "dance."
"Your aunt was certainly good to us," murmured Mollie, a little later. "I'm just dying to see what she has put up for our lunch." For Mrs. Palmer had insisted, as has been said, on packing one of the little valises the girls carried with a noon-day meal to be eaten on the road. Mollie was entrusted with this, her belongings having been divided among her chums.
"Oh," suddenly cried Grace, a moment later, "I forgot something!"
"You mean you left it at my aunt's house?" asked Betty, coming to a stop in the road.
"No, I forgot to get some of those lovely chocolates that new drug store sells. They were delicious. For a country town I never ate better."
"Grace, you are hopeless!" sighed Betty. "Come along, girls, do, or she'll insist on going back for them. And we must get to Middleville on time. It won't do to fall back in our schedule any more."
"I sent a postal to my cousin from your aunt's house," said Amy, at whose relatives the girls were to spend the night. "I told her we surely would be there."
"And so we will," said Betty. "Gracious, I forgot to mail this card toNettie French," and she produced a souvenir card from her pocket.
"Never mind, you can put it in the next post-office we come to," suggested Grace. "Oh, dear! I'm so provoked about those chocolates. I'm positively famished, and I don't suppose it is anywhere near lunch time?" and she looked at her watch. "No, only ten o'clock," and she sighed.
Laughing at her, the girls stepped on. For a time the road ran along a pleasant little river, on which a number of canoes and boats could be seen.
"Oh, for a good row!" exclaimed Mollie.
"We'll have plenty of chances this summer," said Betty. "It has hardly begun."
"I wonder where we will spend our vacation?" spoke Mollie.
"We'll talk about that later," said Betty. "I hope we can be together, and somewhere near the water."
"If we only could get a motor boat!" sighed Grace. "Oh, Bet, if no one claims that five hundred dollars maybe we can get a little launch with it, and camp at Rainbow Lake."
"I'm only afraid some one will claim it," spoke Betty. "I dropped papa a card, telling him to send me a line in case a claimant did appear."
"Oh, let's sit down and rest," proposed Mollie, a little later. "There's a perfect dream of a view from here and it's so cool and shady."
The others were agreeable, so they stopped beneath some big trees in a grassy spot near the bank of the little stream. Grace took advantage of the stop to mend a pair of stockings she was carrying with her. It was so comfortable that they remained nearly an hour and would have stayed longer only the Little Captain, with a look at her watch, decided that they must get under way again.
"Now it's noon!" exclaimed Grace, when they had covered two miles after their rest. "Mollie, open the lunch and let's see what it contains."
There was a startled cry from Mollie. A clasping of her hands, a raising of her almost tragic eyes, and she exclaimed:
"Oh, girls, forgive me! I forgot the lunch! I left it back there where we rested in the shade!"
Dumb amazement held the girls in suspense for a moment. Then came a chorus of cries.
"Mollie, you never did that!"
"Forgot our lunch!"
"And we're so hungry!"
"Oh, Mollie, how could you?"
"You don't suppose I did it on purpose; do you?" flashed back the guilty one, as she looked at the three pairs of tragic, half-indignant and hopeless eyes fastened on her.
"Of course you didn't," returned Betty. "But, oh, Mollie, is it really gone? Did you leave it there?"
"Well, I haven't it with me, none of you have, and I don't remember picking it up after we slumped down there in the shade. Consequently I must have left it there. There's no other solution. It's like one of those queer problems in geometry, or is it algebra, where things that are equal to the same thing are equal to each other," and she laughed with just the hint of hysteria.
"But what are we to do?" demanded Grace. "I am so hungry, and I know there were chicken sandwiches, and olives, in that lunch. Oh, Mollie!"
"Oh, Mollie!" mocked the negligent one. "If you say that again—that way—"
Her temper was rising but, by an effort, she conquered it and smiled.
"I am truly sorry," she said. "Girls, I'll do anything to make up for it.I'll run back and get the lunch—that is, if it is there yet."
"Don't you dare say it isn't!" cried Betty.
"Why can't we all go back?" suggested Amy. "Really it won't delay us so much—if we walk fast. And that was a nice place to eat. There was a lovely spring just across the road. I noticed it. We could make tea—"
"Little comforter!" whispered Betty, putting her arms around the other. "We will all go back. The day is so perfect that there's sure to be a lovely moon, and we can stop somewhere and telephone to your cousin if we find we are going to be delayed. She has an auto, I believe you said, and she might come and get us."
"Stop!" commanded Mollie. "We are a walking club, not a carriage or auto club. We'll walk."
"Then let's put our principles into practice and start now," proposed Grace. "We'll have a good incentive in the lunch at the end of this tramp. Come on!"
There was nothing to do but retrace their steps. True, they might have stopped at some wayside restaurant, but such places were not frequent, and such as there were did not seem very inviting. And Aunt Sallie had certainly put up a most delectable lunch.
The girls reached the spot where they had stopped for a rest, much sooner than they had deemed it possible. Perhaps they walked faster than usual. And, as they came in sight of the quiet little grassy spot, Mollie exclaimed:
"Oh, girls, I see it. Just where I so stupidly left it; near that big rock. Hurry before someone gets there ahead of us!"
They broke into a run, but a moment later Grace cried:
"Too late! That tramp has it!"
The girls stopped in dismay, as they saw a rather raggedly-dressed man slink out from the shadow of a tree and pick up the lunch valise. He stood regarding it curiously.
"Oh, dear!" cried Grace. "And I was so hungry!"
Betty strode forward. There was a look of determination on her face.She spoke:
"Girls, I'm not going to let that tramp take our lovely lunch. Come on, and I'll make him give it back!"
"Betty!" cried Amy. "You'd never dare!"
"I wouldn't? Watch me!"
The man was still standing there, looking at the valise as if in doubt whether or not to open it. Betty with a glance at her chums walked on. They followed.
"That—that's ours, if you please," said Betty. Her voice was weaker than she had thought it would be, and quite wobbly, too. Her knees, she confessed later, were in the same state. But she presented a brave front. "That—that's our lunch," she added, swallowing a lump in her throat.
The man—he certainly looked like a tramp, as far as his clothes were concerned, but his face was clean—turned toward the girls with a smile.
"Your lunch!" he exclaimed, and his voice was not unmusical, "how fortunate!"
He did not say whether it was fortunate for them—or himself.
"We—we forgot it. We left it here," explained Mollie. "That is, I left it here."
"That is—unfortunate," said the man. "It seems—it seems to be a fairly substantial lunch," and he moved the bag up and down.
"It ought to be—for four of us," breathed Amy.
"Allow me," spoke the man, and with a bow he handed the missing lunch to Betty. The girls said afterward that her hand did not tremble a bit as she accepted it. And then the Little Captain did something most unexpected.
"Perhaps you are hungry, too," she said, with one of her winning smiles, a smile that seemed to set her face in a glow of friendliness. "We are on a tramping tour—I mean a walking tour," she hastily corrected herself, feeling that perhaps the man would object to the word "tramp." She went on:
"We are on a walking tour, visiting friends and relatives. We generally take a lunch at noon."
"Yes, that seems to be the universal custom," agreed the man. "That is, for some persons," and he smiled, showing his white teeth.
"Are you—are you hungry?" asked Betty, bluntly.
"I am!" He spoke decidedly.
"Then perhaps—I'm sure we have more here than we can eat—and we'll soon—I mean comparatively soon—be at a friend's house—perhaps—"
She hesitated.
"I would be very glad," and again the man bowed.
Betty opened the little satchel—it was a miniature suitcase—and a veritable wealth of lunch was disclosed. There were sandwiches without number, pickles, olives, chunks of cake, creamy cheese—
"Are you sure you can spare it?" asked the man. "I'm sure I don't want to—"
"Of course we can spare it," put in Mollie, quickly.
"Well then I will admit that I am hungry," spoke the unknown. "I am not exactly what I seem," he added.
Betty glanced curiously at him.
"Don't be alarmed," he went on quickly. "I am not exactly sailing under false colors except in a minor way. Now, for instance, you took me for a tramp; did you not?" He paused and smiled.
"I—I think we did," faltered Mollie.
"And I don't blame you. I have, for the time being, assumed the habiliments of a knight of the road, for certain purposes of my own. I am—well, to be frank, I am trying to find something. In order to carry out my plans I have even begged my way, and, not always successfully. In fact—"
"You are hungry!" exclaimed Grace, and her chums said she made a move as though to bring out some chocolates. Grace, later, denied this.
"I am hungry," confessed the tramp—as he evidently preferred to appear.
Betty took out a generous portion of food.
"It is too much," the wayfarer protested.
"Not at all," Betty insisted. "We have a double reason for giving it to you. First, you are hungry. Second, please accept it as a reward for—"
"For not eating all of your lunch after I found it, I suppose you were going to say," put in the man, with a smile. "Very well, then I'll accept," and he bowed, not ungracefully.
He had the good taste—or was it bashfulness—to go over to a little grove of trees to eat his portion. Grace wanted to take him a cup of chocolate—which they made instead of tea—but Betty persuaded her not to. The girls ate their lunch, to be interrupted in the midst of it by the man who called a good-bye to them as he moved off down the road.
"He's going," remarked Amy. "I wonder if he had enough?"
"I think so," replied Betty. "Now, girls, we must hurry. We have been delayed, and—"
"I'm so sorry," put in Mollie. "It was my fault, and—"
"Don't think of it, my dear!" begged Grace. "Any of us might have forgotten the lunch, just as you did."
As they walked past the place which the tramp had selected for his dining room, Betty saw some papers on the ground. They appeared to be letters, and, rather idly, she picked them up. She looked into one or two of the torn envelopes.
"I wouldn't do that," said Grace. "Maybe those are private letters. He must have forgotten them. I wonder where he has gone? Perhaps we can catch him—he might need these papers. But I wouldn't read them, Betty."
"They're nothing but advertising circulars," retorted the Little Captain."Nothing very private about them. I guess he threw them all away."
She was about to let them fall from her hand, when a bit of paper fluttered from one envelope. Picking it up Betty was astonished to read on the torn portion the words:
"I cannot carry out that deal I arranged with you, because I have had the misfortune to lose five hundred dollars and I shall have to—"
There the paper, evidently part of a letter to someone, was torn off.There were no other words.
"Girls!" cried Betty, "look—see! This letter! That man may be the one whose money we found! He has written about it—as nearly as I can recall, the writing is like that in the note pinned to the five hundred dollars. Oh, we must find that tramp!"
"He wasn't a tramp!" exclaimed Grace.
"No, I don't believe he was, either," admitted Betty. "That's what he meant when he spoke of his disguise, and looking for something. He's hunting for his five hundred dollars. Oh, dear! which way did he go?"
"Toward Middleville," returned Amy.
"Then we must hurry up and catch him. We can explain that we have his money."
"But are you sure it is his?" asked Mollie.
"This looks like it," said Betty, holding out the torn letter.
"But some one else might have lost five hundred dollars," protested Grace.
"Come on, we'll find him, and ask him about it, anyhow," suggestedBetty. "Middleville is on our way. Oh, to think how things may turn out!Hurry, girls!"
They hastily gathered up their belongings and walked on, talking of their latest adventure.
"He was real nice looking," said Mollie.
"And quite polite," added Amy.
"And do you think he may be traveling around like a tramp, searching for that bill?" asked Grace.
"It's possible," declared Betty: "Perhaps he couldn't help looking like a tramp, because if he has lost all his money he can't afford any other clothes. Oh, I do hope we find him!"
But it was a vain hope. They did not see the man along the road, and inquiries of several persons they met gave no trace. Nor had he reached Middleville, as far as could be learned. If he had, no one had noticed him.
"Oh, dear!" sighed Betty, when they had exhausted all possibilities, "I did hope that money mystery was going to be solved. Now it's as far off as ever. But I'll keep this torn piece of letter for evidence. Poor fellow! He may have built great hopes on that five hundred dollar bill—then to lose it!"
They went to the house of Amy's cousin in Middleville. There they spent an enjoyable evening, meeting some friends who had been invited in. Amy said nothing about the disclosure to her of the strange incident in her life. Probably, she reflected, her relative already knew it.
Morning saw them on the move again, with Broxton, where a married sister of Grace lived, as their objective point. The day was cloudy, but it did not seem that it would rain, at least before night.
And even the frown of the weather did not detract from the happiness of the chums. They laughed and talked as they walked on, making merry by the way.
Stopping in a country store to make sure of their route they were informed that by taking to the railroad track for a short distance they could save considerable time.
"Then we ought to do it," decided Betty, "for we don't want to get caught in the rain," and she glanced up at the clouds that were now more threatening.
They reached the railroad track a short distance out of the little village, and proceeded down the stretch of rails.
"There's a train in half an hour," a man informed them, "but you'll be off long before then."
"I hope so," murmured Amy.
They had nearly reached the end of the ballasted way, when Betty, who was in the lead, came to a sudden halt.
"What is it," asked Mollie, "a snake? Oh, girls!"
"No, not a snake," was the quick answer. "But look! This rail is broken!It must have cracked when the last train passed. And another one—anexpress—is due soon! If it runs over that broken rail it may be wrecked!Girls, we've got to stop that train!" and she faced her chums resolutely.
"What can we do?" It was Grace who asked the question. It was Betty, theLittle Captain, who answered it.
"We must stop the train," she said. "We must wave something red at it.Red always means danger."
"Mollie's tie," exclaimed Amy. Mollie was wearing a bright vermilion scarf knotted about the collar of her blouse.
"It isn't big enough," decided Betty. "But we must do something. That man said the train would come along soon. It's an express. A slow train might not go off the track, as the break is only a small one. But the express—"
She paused suggestively—apprehensively.
"There's a man!" cried Grace.
"A track-walker!" cried Betty. "Oh, he'll know what to do," and she darted toward a man just appearing around the curve—a man with a sledge, and long-handled wrench over his shoulder.
"Hey! Hey!" Betty called. "Come here. There's a broken rail!"
The man broke into a run.
"What's that?" he called. "Got your foot caught in a rail? It's a frog—a switch that you mean. Take off your shoe!"
"No, we're not caught!" cried Betty, in shrill accent. "The rail is broken!"
The track-walker was near enough now to hear her correctly. And, fortunately, he understood, which might have been expected of him, considering his line of work.
"It's a bad break," he affirmed, as he looked at it, "Sometimes the heat of the sun will warp a rail, and pull out the very spikes by the roots, ladies. That's what happened here. Then a train—'twas the local from Dunkirk—came along and split the rail. 'Tis a wonder Jimmie Flannigan didn't see it. This is his bit of track, but his wife is sick and I said I'd come down to meet him with a bite to eat, seein' as how she can't put up his dinner. 'Tis lucky you saw it in time, ladies."
"But what about the train?" asked Betty.
"Oh, I'll stop that all right. I'll flag it, and Jimmie and me'll put in a new rail. You'll be noticin' that we have 'em here and there along the line," and he showed them where, a little distance down the track, there were a number placed in racks made of posts, so that they might not rust.
From his pocket the track-walker pulled a red flag. It seemed that he carried it there for just such emergencies. He tied it to his pick handle, and stuck the latter in the track some distance away from the broken rail.
"The engineer'll see that," he said, "and stop. Now I'll go get Jimmie and we'll put in a new rail. You young ladies—why, th' railroad company'll be very thankful to you. If you was to stop here now, and the passengers of the train were told of what you found—why, they might even make up a purse for you. They did that to Mike Malone once, when he flagged the Century Flier when it was goin' to slip over a broken bridge. I'll tell 'em how it was, and how you—"
"No—no—we can't stay!" exclaimed Betty. "If you will look after the broken rail we'll go on. We must get to Broxton."
"Oh, sure, it'll not take the likes of you long to be doin' that," complimented the man, with a trace of brogue in his voice. "You look equal to doin' twice as much."
"Well, we don't want to be caught in the rain," spoke Mollie.
"Ah, 'twill be nothin' more than a sun shower, it will make your complexions better—not that you need it though," he hastened to add. "Good luck to you, and many thanks for tellin' me about this broken rail. 'Tis poor Jimmie who'd be blamed for not seein' it, and him with a sick wife. Good-bye to you!"
The girls, satisfied that the train would be flagged in time, soon left the track, the last glimpse they had of the workman being as he hurried off to summon his partner to replace the broken rail.
That he did so was proved a little later, for when the girls were walking along the road that ran parallel to the railroad line some distance farther on, the express dashed by at a speed which seemed to indicate that the engineer was making up for lost time.
Several days later the girls read in a local paper of how the train had been stopped while two track-walkers fitted a perfect rail in place of the broken one. And something of themselves was told. For the track-walker they had met had talked of the young ladies he had met, and there was much printed speculation about them.
"I'm glad we didn't give our names," said Grace. "Our folks might have worried if they had read of it."
"But we might have gotten a reward," said Mollie.
"Never mind—we have the five hundred dollars," exclaimed Grace.
"It may already be claimed," spoke Betty.
When they had seen the express go safely by, thankful that they had had a small share in preventing a possible loss of life, the girls continued on their way. They stopped for lunch in a little grove of trees, brewing tea, and partaking of the cake, bread and meat Amy's cousin had provided. Amy had torn her skirt on a barbed wire fence and the rent was sewed up beside the road.
The clouds seemed to be gathering more thickly, and with rather anxious looks at the sky the members of the Camping and Tramping Club hastened on.
"Girls, we're going to get wet!" exclaimed Mollie, as they passed a cross-road, pausing to look at the sign-board.
"And it's five miles farther on to Broxton!" said Amy. "Can we ever make it?"
"I think so—if we hurry," said Betty. "A little rain won't hurt us.These suits are made to stand a drenching."
"Then let's walk fast," proposed Grace.
"She wouldn't have said that with those other shoes," remarkedAmy, drily.
"Got any candy?" demanded Mollie. "I'm hungry!"
Without a word Grace produced a bag of chocolates. It was surprising how she seemed to keep supplied with them.
The girls were hurrying along, now and then looking apprehensively at the fast-gathering and black clouds, when, as they turned a bend in the road, Amy, who was walking beside Grace, cried out:
"Oh, it's a bear! It's a bear!"
"What's that—a new song?" demanded Mollie, laughing.
"No—look! look!" screamed Amy, and she pointed to a huge, hairy creature lumbering down the middle of the highway.
The girls screamed in concert, and whose voice was the loudest was a matter that was in doubt. Not that the Little Captain and her chums lingered long to determine. The bear stopped short in the middle of the road, standing on its hind legs, waving its huge forepaws, and lolling its head from side to side in a sort of Comical amazement.
"Run! Run!" screamed Betty. "To the woods!"
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" That seemed the extent of Mollie's vocabulary just then.
"Climb a tree," was the advice of Grace.
"Is he coming? Is it coming after us?" Amy wanted to know.
She glanced over her shoulder as she put the question, and there nearly followed an accident, for Amy was running, and the look back caused her to stumble. Betty, who was racing beside her, just managed to save her chum from a bad fall. All the girls were running—running as though their lives depended on their speed. Luckily they wore short, walking skirts, which did not hinder free movement, and they really made good speed.
[Illustration: THE BEAR STOPPED SHORT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD.]
They crossed the road and plunged into the underbrush, crashing through it in very terror. They clung to their small suitcases instinctively. Then suddenly, as they ran on, there came the clear notes of a bugle in an army call. Betty recalled something.
"Stop, girls!" she cried.
"What, with that bear after us?" wailed Grace. "Never!"
"It's all right—I tell you it's all right!" went on Betty.
"Oh, she's lost her mind! She's so frightened she doesn't know what she is saying!" exclaimed Mollie. "Oh, poor Betty!"
"Silly! Stop, I tell you. That bear—"
Again came the notes of the bugle, and then the girls, looking through the fringe of trees at the road, saw a man with a red jacket, and wearing a hat in which was a long feather, come along, and grasp a chain that dangled from the leather muzzle which they had failed to notice on the bear's nose.
"It's a tame bear!" cried Betty. "That's what I meant. He won't harm us. Come on back to the road! Oh, I've torn my skirt!" and she gazed ruefully at a rent in the garment.
The girls hesitated a moment, and then, understanding the situation, and being encouraged by the fact that the man now had his bear in charge, also seeing another man, evidently the mate of the first, approaching with a second bear, they all went back to the highway. The bugle blew again, and one of the bears, at a command from the man, turned a clumsy somersault.
Grace burst into hysterical laughter, in which she was joined by the others.
"Weren't we silly!" exclaimed Mollie.
"Oh, but it looked just like a real bear!" gasped Amy in self-defense.
"Listen to her," said Betty. "A real bear—why, of course it is. Did you think it was the Teddy variety?"
"Oh, you know what I mean," spoke Amy, "I thought it was a wild bear."
"It probably was—once," remarked Grace.
They were all out in the road now, and the two men, with the bears, were slowly approaching. Evidently the foremost man had seen the precipitate flight of the girls, so, taking off his hat, and bowing with foreign politeness, he said:
"Excuse—please. Juno him get away from me—I chase after—I catch.Excuse, please."
"That's all right," said Betty, pleasantly. "We were frightened for a minute."
"Verra sorry. Juno made the dance for the ladies!"
He blew some notes on a battered brass horn, and began some foreign words in a sing-song tone, at which the bear moved clumsily about on its hind feet.
"Juno—kiss!" the man cried.
The great shaggy creature extended its muzzle toward the man's face, touching his cheek.
"Excuse—please," said the bear-trainer, smiling.
"Come on girls," suggested Amy. The place was rather a lonely one, though there were houses just beyond, and the two men, in spite of their bows, did not seem very prepossessing.
With hearts that beat rapidly from their recent flight and excitement, the girls passed the bears, the men both taking off their hats and bowing. Then the strange company was lost to sight down a turn in the road, the notes of the bugles coming faintly to the girls.
"Gracious! Thatwasan adventure!" exclaimed Mollie.
"I thought I should faint," breathed Amy.
"Have a chocolate—do," urged Grace.
"They're nourishing," and she held out some.
"Girls, we must hurry," spoke Betty, "or we'll never get to Broxton before the rain. Hurry along!"
They walked fast, passing through the little village of Chanceford, where they attracted considerable attention. It was not every day that four such pretty, and smartly-attired, girls were seen on the village main street—the only thoroughfare, by the way. Then they came to the open country again. They had been going along at a good pace, and were practically certain of reaching Grace's sister's house in time for supper.
"It's raining!" suddenly exclaimed Betty, holding up her hand to make sure.
A drop splashed on it. Then another. Amy looked up into the clouds overhead.
"Oh!" she cried. "A drop fell in my eye."
Then with a suddenness that was surprising, the shower came down hard.Little dark spots mottled the white dust of the road.
"Run!" cried Mollie. "There's a house. We can stay on the porch until the rain passes. The people won't mind."
A little in advance, enclosed with a neat red fence, and setting back some distance from the road was a large, white house, with green shutters. The windows in front were open, as was the front door, and from one casement a lace curtain flapped in the wind.
"Run! Run! We'll be drenched!" cried Grace, thinking of her new walking suit. Without more ado the girls hurried through the gate, up the gravel walk and got to the porch just as the rain reached its maximum. It was coming down now in a veritable torrent.
"Queer the people here don't shut their door," remarked Betty.
"And see, the rain is coming in the parlor window," added Amy.
"Maybe they don't know it," suggested Grace. "Oh, the wind is blowing the rain right in on us!" she cried.
"I wonder if it would be impertinent to walk in?" suggested Mollie.
"We at least can knock and ask—they won't refuse," said Betty. "And really, with the wind this way, the porch is no protection at all."
She rapped on the open door. There was no response and she tapped again—louder, to make it heard above the noise of the storm.
"That's queer—maybe no one is at home," said Grace.
"They would hardly go off and leave the house all open, when it looked so much like rain," declared Amy. "Suppose we call to them? Maybe they are upstairs."
The girls were now getting so wet that they decided not to stand on ceremony. They went into the hall, through the front door. There was a parlor on one side, and evidently a sitting room on the other side of the central hall.
"See that rain coming in on the curtains and carpets!" cried Betty."Girls, we must close the windows," and she darted into the parlor.The others followed her example, and soon the house was closed againstthe elements.
Breathless the girls waited for some sign or evidence of life in the house. There was none. The place was silent, the only sound being the patter of the rain and the sighing of the wind. The girls looked at each other. Then Betty spoke:
"I don't believe there's a soul here!" she exclaimed. "Not a soul! The house is deserted!"