"Oh, I say, that was rich, Old Till," gasped Jot. "That was worth a farm!"
"What made you think of entering?" Kent laughed.
"Oh, I thought I would—I knew I could beat 'em," Old Tilly said modestly.
Sunset ended the festivities in the grove, and the boys mounted and rode away with the other tired people. Gradually they fell behind.
"Don't—rush—so; I've got to keep up my reputation!" said Old Tilly.
"Besides, I'm tired."
"Me, too."
"Same here. Let's camp out to-night in the woods. Why didn't we stay there and camp in that grove?"
"Well, we might have, but we won't go back," answered Old Tilly. "Come on, let's make for that pretty little brown house. Maybe we can buy our supper there."
But the little brown house was shut up tight. The curtains were all pulled down, and a general air of "not at home" pervaded even the clapboards and the morning-glory vine over the door. Only the neat little barn looked hospitable. Its doors stood open wide. A distant rumble of thunder suddenly sounded, and the sky darkened with ominous swiftness.
"Going to rain," Kent said.