They spread their luncheon, a very generous one, since it had been provided, as they had begged, with a view to its serving two meals. But the boys seemed to be entirely hollow.
“See here, boys,” exclaimed Edith, in dismay. “You must stop. There won’t be bread and butter enough for supper, if you keep on, and we must make it last. Now, Phil, you’ve had five pieces of cake already. You shan’t have another bit. We’ll pack the rest up now.” Edith being the eldest of the party, and unusually quiet and dignified for her age, her words always carried weight. The boys reluctantly suspended operations, and very unwillingly watched the remainder of the lunch repacked in the baskets.
They finally decided not to go back the way they had come, but to take a cart-path which crossed the one they were on, and which Harry was quite sure would bring them out on the main road that they wished to strike.
Their lunch had refreshed them, and they went on, gayly chattering and laughing. A squirrel-hunt detained them awhile, and then a great patch of squaw-berries, as the children called the pretty partridge-vine, attracted them. Then they stumbled on some wintergreen, and stopped to gather great bunches.
“Goodness gracious!” exclaimed Cricket, at last. “Boys, I believe it’s most supper-time, and I’d like to know where that West Road’s gone to.”
“It’s gone to Melville. That’s where it always goes,” said Harry, smartly.
“Since your wits are so sharp,” laughed Edith, “perhaps they’ll help you to decide which of these two paths we ought to take now.”
Harry considered.
“We want to go west,” he said, “and there’s the sun over there, so we’ll take that path. Jove, boys! Look at that sun! it must be four o’clock. No berries yet.”
The little band began to look rather discouraged.