“Right you are, Aggie,” agreed Neale, starting the car again.
“Sammy Pinkney is an elusive youngster, sure enough,” said the truant’s father. “Something has got to stop him from running away. It costs too much time and money to overtake him and bring him back.”
“And we haven’t done that yet,” murmured Agnes.
The car struck heavy going in the road through the woods before they had gone very far up the rise. In places the road was soft and had been cut up by the wheels of heavy trucks or wagons. And they did not pass a single house—not even a cleared spot in the wood—on either hand.
“If he started up this way so near supper time last evening, as those boys say,” Mr. Pinkney ruminated, “where was he at supper time?”
“Here, or hereabout, I should say!” exclaimed Neale O’Neil. “Why, it must have been pretty dark when he got this far.”
“If he really came this far,” added Agnes.
“Well, let us run along and see if there is a house anywhere,” Mr. Pinkney said. “Of course, Sammy might have slept out—”
“It wouldn’t be the first time, I bet!” chuckled Neale.
“And of course there would be nothing to hurt him in these woods?” suggested Agnes.