“No. Did you?”
“No.”
“Did you, Helen?” inquired Mike, who still had only a hazy idea how the young girl had happened to be there.
“No. And I only had dried lima beans for lunch.”
“The nearest village is about five miles,” volunteered Pat. “I’ve worked along this road before. Shall we all pile into my truck and hunt it?”
“I couldn’t leave my autogiro—” began Linda, when Dot interrupted with a suggestion. She had just remembered the food she had brought from the inn at Lake Winnebago.
“Wait!” she cried, joyfully. “I’ve got chicken sandwiches and peaches in the plane! Does that sound good?”
“Does it sound good!” repeated Mike. “Oh, boy!”
Linda and the two young men ran over to the field immediately, and returned in a few minutes, their arms piled with boxes and the thermos bottles of water which Linda always carried in the “Ladybug.” Going over to the bank beside the road, they all sat down while Dot untied the bundles.
“I’ll have to count the sandwiches and divide them evenly,” she said, laughingly. “Just as if we were all starving Armenians.”