“Well, if I hadn’t been going for a good time, I would. Somehow, when I’m going out for a good time, I don’t like to begin by killing something.”
Azalea laughed lightly, and the two went on along the shady road. Twice they crossed creeks—amber-colored, rippling streams that sang over the stones. One they jumped across; the other was too wide for that, but they found a narrow swinging bridge a little way upstream.
“Don’t it seem strange to think that there used to be people and people going along here,” mused Azalea, “and now almost no one comes here!”
Jim nodded. He hadn’t much time to think about things like that. He was wondering what he would find at the Atherton house.
After a time they came to a sunny piece of road, and along the side a clay bank punctured with little holes.
“Oh, doodle bug holes!” cried Jim. “Come, let’s get the doodle bugs out.” So the two children got down on their knees and blew into the holes where the bugs lived and called three times:
“Doodle bug, come out of your hole!”
And the doodle bugs came out politely, and ran about this way and that as if looking for the person who had called them.
“I spose we’re too large for them to see,” said Azalea.
They had been told to keep their lunch until noon, but they felt so hungry—at least Jim did—that they decided to eat it at once. So they got out the cold biscuit spread with honey and the bottle of milk and the cornbread sandwiches with the bacon between and ate it all. Not a scrap did they leave. Then they took a long drink of spring water and started on again.