The road was dusty, the jug was heavy, the day was hot. After two miles they were warm and thirsty—and hungry, too, and their feet dragged a little.
“Oh, that cider, that cider,” laughed Katherine. “I wish it could come part way to meet us!”
“Never mind, room-mate,” cheered Peggy, with mock heroism; “only a mile and a half to go now, and then the lovely cider will be running into our jug, and we can get several glassesful to drink there. And ginger cookies to your heart’s content, Kay.”
“Can’t we—speed up a little?” urged Katherine on the strength of that; “if we just double our steps, we’ll get there sooner.”
So the dust clouded up more thickly under their hastening footsteps, and the mile and a half dwindled and disappeared, until there before them was the cider mill itself, keeping guard over a little stream that gurgled into the mill and out again.
“At last, room-mate!” hailed Katherine.
“Katherine,” hesitated Peggy, right in sight of their goal, “have you—have you thought how much heavier the jug will be to carry back when it is full?”
Katherine cast at her one withering glance, seized her arm, and the two ran now, the jug bumping as it would against their knees, and the perspiration bright on their foreheads.
“It looks like a deserted castle,” panted Peggy when they turned up the worn pathway to the entrance of the mill. “And isn’t it quiet? Doesn’t it usually make some kind of noise?”
“You’re thinking of the planing mill, infant,” mocked Katherine.