“No, nothing open on Sunday.”
“Sure enough, it is Sunday!” cried Ned. “I’m so upset I’d about forgotten it.”
“Sleeping in the hay instead of your bed sort of put you off the track,” suggested the farmer.
“That’s what it did,” agreed Ned.
It was a beautiful morning and Ned thoroughly enjoyed it as he rode along. Even the rough jolting of the farm wagon was not unpleasant.
“I don’t usually travel in this kind of a rig on Sundays,” explained the farmer. “But I have to go over to Doddtown for some grain for the horses, and I had to take this cart.”
“I’m glad you did,” said Ned. “If you had been in a carriage I couldn’t have brought the motor cycle with me.”
“No more you could,” spoke the farmer. “Everything happens for the best after all. But here you are. This is as far as I go on your way. If you take that road,” pointing to where one branched off from the highway the wagon was on, “you’ll come to Cresville. Sorry I can’t take you all the way, but it’s only three miles.”
“I’m much obliged to you for the lift,” said Ned, getting the machine out of the wagon, and bidding his new acquaintance good-bye.
Leaving the motor cycle at a house on the outskirts of town, Ned reached home about noon, and found his parents much alarmed. Jerry and Bob were at his house, and there was talk of organizing a searching party.