"Just where are you going?" shrieked Aunty Jane, a moment too late.
For the picnic, kitten and all, was already spinning joyously away; and never was there a happier party. At first the inviting road was all that road should be, for constant use kept it in excellent condition. After the first two miles, however, the going was only fair, as it was necessary to proceed rather slowly because spring rains had uncovered big boulders that it seemed best to avoid. Also there were chickens—never had the Whale's way been so beset by loitering hens. When these had finally been left behind, the Whale came to a pleasant stretch of country road partly overgrown with short, fragrant grass.
"If it's all like this," said Mrs. Crane, sniffing contentedly, "it won't take long to travel seventeen miles."
Unfortunately, it wasn't like that for any great distance. Soon the Whale was panting laboriously up a long, stony hill; down which a foolish little creek that had strayed from its proper bed was meandering aimlessly but with most disastrous results. It had made deep, jagged, treacherous furrows that had to be skilfully avoided; so it took considerable time to climb the damaged hill. After that, the road was sandy.
The sand in northern Michigan seems sandier than any other sand. Mr. Black was certain that it was at least a mile deep along that dreadful road, skirted by a dreary stretch of small poplars. But far ahead, this dauntless man could see the beckoning green of lofty trees—he fixed hopeful eyes on that and coaxed the groaning Whale to nobler efforts. Where the sand was deepest, everybody but Bettie and Mr. Black got out and walked—or waded along the dusty roadside; and sometimes they pushed the Whale when that weary leviathan threatened to stick. At length, however, the dusty car lurched heavily into the grateful shade of a fine forest road, carpeted smoothly with pine needles and the decaying leaves of oak, maple, and elm trees, whose branches, green and lovely with spring foliage, met overhead.
"Oh," breathed Bettie, lying back luxuriously among her cushions, "isn't this just beautiful!"
"Let's go slowly," pleaded Mrs. Crane. "It's years since I've seen such woods. I declare! I'd like to stay right here."
"I guess the mosquitoes 'd be glad to have you," said Mr. Black. "Are all those girls aboard? They won't need to do any walking as long as this lasts—it was made for the Whale!"
Unfortunately, the beautifully smooth ground stretched before them for only a few precious moments, though the forest itself grew wilder and more interesting at every turn of the wheels. After a time, the road began to dip steadily downward. Presently the Whale was sliding over clay, pushing through deep, clinging mire, splashing through puddles of stagnant water, or bumping over stretches of half-submerged corduroy.