"Then you let me get you some of my cookies," Mrs. Marshall—she had told them her name—insisted. "I'll bet those pesky cows gave you a lot of trouble. My husband keeps his fences up, but he has a neighbor who won't do his share on the line."
She hurried into the house and in five minutes came back with a box which she told Polly not to open till lunch time.
"It's my baking day, and I just had some little pies handy," she said. "The boys like to take a little pie out in the field with them and eat it while they're at work."
Artie had spied a well, and nothing must do but he must pull up the bucket and have a drink.
"I read about a boy once who dropped his mother's teapot down the well," he announced, when he had had his drink and Polly was holding on to him as he leaned over the curb.
"That isn't so bad as dropping your brother down the well," Polly informed him. "And if you don't come away this minute, you're likely to go in—I can't hold you another minute."
"All aboard!" called Mr. Williamson, and three loud blasts from a horn told them that Mr. Larue's car was waiting at the foot of the lane.
Mr. and Mrs. Marshall waved to them till the tops of the orchard trees hid them from sight.
"We found the farmer!" called Ward, as he caught a glimpse of his father. "We found the man who owns the cows."
"They were driving them out of the field as we came past," said Mr. Larue. "The boys told us you had notified them. Now I suppose we continue our journey?"