Why had she never thought of leaving before—to carry out the plan?
She was so happy over her determination that she all but allowed herself to be seen by an automobile that, with milk-cans rocking and clanking, shot past on its way out of town. She was not ready yet to ask for a ride. That would come later, when a village to the south was at her back, and the chances of her being recognized had lessened. Just now, with her new idea in mind, she felt so happy and light-footed that she needed no rides. She knew she could go on walking all day!
But there was something she had forgotten: breakfast. Very soon she remembered it—at about the time she was accustomed to having it. And as she trotted along she thought of her cereal and cream, her three-minute egg, and the little stack of crisp, hot buttered toast that Sophie always brought with the egg.
Phœbe looked on either hand for houses. She had passed quite a few, but they were set so far back from the highway that she had not feared being seen from them. But if she was to have even a bite of breakfast, would it not be necessary to go boldly up to one, and ring the bell, and ask for food?
“No,” said Phœbe, aloud. “They’d telephone straight into town. I’ll just have to stand it till I get farther.”
Her trot changed to a trudge. The summer sun climbed the sky, and the coolness went out of the air. She grew thirsty, and forgot her hunger in her desire for water. What made things harder was the fact that automobiles or wagons were frequent now, and she had to be on the lookout constantly, and was constantly compelled to forsake the road for the deep ditch while travellers went by.
Then there were the trains—both freight and passenger. She hid from them. From the north they might carry people who would know that she was missing; from the south they would take news of a lone little girl walking toward New York.
Toward noon she went aside into a clump of trees to rest. Here she found water—a shallow, unshaded pool of it. But it was not the kind she had always been accustomed to, cold and limpid and clean; it was warm, and a thin scum floated upon its surface. Also, there were long-legged, nervous insects going about upon it jerkily. She had to drive them away before she could drink.
Once she had left the New York road, somehow she did not want to return to it. She was afraid of discovery. As noon came and passed, there were more automobiles and wagons to elude, and even more trains. Once she saw a man on foot, with a dog at his heels. She remembered a moving-picture she had once seen in which dogs had been used to find a murderer. She wondered if the man and the dog would not soon be hunting for her!
At that she started off once more, going parallel to track and road, but keeping well out of sight from both. This meant hard work, for there was cultivated land to cross, there were fences to climb, and whenever a house loomed up ahead, it was necessary for Phœbe to make what to her was a heart-breaking detour.