They stepped off the train the instant it stopped and Mrs. Merrill ran toward a small car that, with chugging engine and waiting driver, stood near by.
“Will you take us to the boat?” she cried eagerly.
“Sure, lady,” said the driver cheerfully; “pile right in.”
Grabbing the luggage the girls carried, a small bag and Alice’s camera, Mrs. Merrill tossed it with her own bag into the back, pushed the girls in and, jumping in herself, slammed the door behind her. And that same instant a man who evidently had been up at the front of the train jumped in the front seat by the driver, and with a lurch the car dashed away.
“The boat, you know,” said Mrs. Merrill as soon as she got her breath; “we want the Ocklawaha boat.”
“Sure, lady,” said the man, “we’ll make it.” He waved a yellow telegram before her, but with the jolting of the car and the rush of the wind, Mrs. Merrill couldn’t tell what it said nor could she hear the rest of his words.
“Well, no use getting excited,” she said, sitting back where she could brace herself better. “Evidently they wired to meet us here and that certainly was thoughtful. Hang on to the seat there, Mary Jane, or you’ll bounce out, child,” she added quickly as an extra big lurch of the car threatened to toss Mary Jane out over the side.
On they dashed through the noon sunshine: past houses and streets and out into the open country. And no sign of a boat landing anywhere.
“Something’s wrong, I know,” said Mrs. Merrill with concern. “I know we’ve been at least four miles and the boat landing was only two miles from the station. They’ve got to stop and tell me where they are going.” She braced herself firmly and then reached front and shouted to the driver.
“Stop! Stop right here! I told you I want to go to the boat landing and you’re not taking us in that direction.”