“And the children’s heads out ’most anywhere,” added Elise; “yes, it’s certainly picturesque.”
“Speaking of gipsy waggons makes me hungry,” said Mrs. Farrington. “What time is it, and how soon shall we reach the Warners’?”
“It’s after eight o’clock, my dear,” said her husband, “and I’m sure we can’t get there before ten, and then, of course, we won’t have dinner at once, so do let us partake of a little light refreshment.”
“Seems to me we are always eating,” said Patty, “but I’m free to confess that I’m about as hungry as a full grown anaconda.”
Without reducing their speed, and they were going fairly fast, the tourists indulged in a picnic luncheon. There was no tea making, but sandwiches and little cakes and glasses of milk were gratefully accepted.
“This is all very well,” said Mrs. Farrington, after supper was over, “and I wouldn’t for a moment have you think that I’m tired or frightened, or the least mite timid. But if I may have my way, hereafter we’ll make no definite promises to be at any particular place at any particular time. I wish when you had telephoned, John, you had told the Warners that we wouldn’t arrive until to-morrow. Then we could have stopped somewhere, and spent the night like civilised beings, instead of doing this gipsy act.”
“It would have been a good idea,” said Mr. Farrington thoughtfully, “but it’s a bit too late now, so there’s no use worrying about it. But cheer up, my friend, I think we’ll arrive shortly.”
“I think we won’t,” said Roger. “I don’t want to be discouraging, but we haven’t passed the old stone quarry yet, and that’s a mighty long way this side of Pine Branches.”
“You’re sure you know the way, aren’t you, Roger?” asked his mother, her tone betraying the first trace of anxiety she had yet shown.
“Oh, yes,” said Roger, and Patty wasn’t sure whether she imagined it, or whether the boy’s answer was not quite as positive as it was meant to sound.