“Well, I do’no’; that’s considerable more roundabout.”
“You can do as you please,” said John. “We’ll risk it, if you will.”
“I guess I’ll go over Haley’s Hill, then. But I reckon you fellers’ll get shook up some. ’Tain’t much more’n a wood-road, and they’s washouts on the downhill parts and bog-holes where its level that they’ve dumped brush and stuff into. You’ll have to walk up the steep parts. Don’t you want something to eat?” he then asked. “I brought along a pocketful of gingerbread, ’cause I knew I shouldn’t get home till after dark. Here,” and he pulled out a handful of broken fragments, “better have some.”
“Thank you,” said John; “but we had a rather late lunch on the cars, and I don’t think we’ll eat again till we get the tent pitched. What was it you said about there being two places up there we could go to?”
The boy took a mouthful of gingerbread, and when he got the process of mastication well under way he responded, “Well, there’s Jules’, and there’s Whitcomb’s. Jules’ is on one side of the brook and Whitcomb’s is on the other. Jules is the Frenchman, ye know.”
“Which place is best?”
OCTOBER
“I do’no’ ’bout that. Whitcomb’s is the nearest.”
“We’ll try the nearest place, I think.”