A moment later Robert was skulking through the barnyard, making a bee line for the blueberry lot and the turnpike. But what made the chickens act so queerly? Mrs. Bantam, with her head cocked on one side, eyed him suspiciously as he crept along, while the great white rooster flew upon the coop and screamed right out, so loud that Robert feared the whole village would hear. “What-you-going-to-do-oo? What-you-going-to-do-oo?” Robert did not think best to answer, but was only more eager than ever to move on his journey.
He had no sooner struck the blueberry lot, however, than Lady Ann, the Jersey cow, started for him, and, poking out her head, exclaimed in mild surprise, “Oo-oo! oo-oo!”
“What-you-going-to-do-oo? What-you-going-to-do-oo?”
And he had barely reached the road, when, to cap the climax, the sheep from the stony pasture across the way began to chide him. “Ba-ad! Ba-ad!” they bleated.
“No, I’m not bad, either!” cried Robert almost in tears. Here he had gone cross-lots purposely to escape the villagers and now the animals were all after him! And, stuffing his fingers in his ears, he began to run.
The summer sun was blazing; still Robert kept on, though with ever-slackening speed, meeting no one but a stray dog or two and an occasional ox-team with its sleepy driver. At length he came to a big sign post which read:
BLAKEVILLE 3 MILES
“P’r’aps I’d better sit down a minute,” he said to himself. “I’m not tired, of course, and my shoes don’t hurt—only just a little bit. I guess there won’t be anybody to catch me ’way out here.” And as he sat rubbing his hands over the shoes that did not hurt, he encouraged himself with visions of the candy counter at Nurse’s village store.
“Why, Robert, little man, what are you doing so far from home?” There was no escaping an answer this time, for it was Mrs. Bronson, the minister’s wife, who stood before him.