"All right. Pick him up," she said to Henry.
Henry bent over the sleeping child and lifted him carefully. Jess took the laundry bag, turned the doorknob ever so softly, opened the door ever so slowly, and they tiptoed out in a ghostly procession.
Jess shut the door with as much care as she had opened it, listened to the bakeshop woman's heavy snoring for a moment, and then they turned and picked their way without a sound to the country road.
"She may wake up before morning, you know," whispered Henry. "We must do our fastest walking before then. If we can only get to another town before they find out we're gone, they won't know which way to go."
Jess agreed, and they all walked briskly along in the faint moonlight.
"How far can you carry Benny?" asked Violet.
"Oh, at least a mile," said Henry confidently, although his arms were beginning to ache. Benny was five years old, and he was a fat, healthy boy as well.
"I think we could all walk faster if we woke him up," said Jess decidedly. "We could each take his hand and almost carry him along."
Henry knelt by the roadside and set the little fellow against his knee.
"Come, Benny, you must wake up now and walk!" said Jess coaxingly.