That is just exactly what the pony intended to do. Sammy could not turn him. He would mind neither voice nor the tugging rein. Arching his neck, tossing his mane, and stepping high in time to the droning music, the calico pony turned the corner and followed on at the rear of the procession.
"Why—why," gasped Dot, "I don't want to go to a funeral. You stop him, Sammy Pinkney."
"Can't we turn him up a side street, Sammy?" whispered Tess.
Everybody was looking from the sidewalk and from the houses they passed. It was a ridiculous situation. The solemn, slow notes of the band seemed just suited to Scalawag's leisurely action. He kept perfect time.
"And they're goin' to march clear out to the Calvary Cemetery!" ejaculated Sammy. "It's four miles!"
CHAPTER XXII
THE GREEN UMBRELLA AGAIN
"Boom! Boom! Boom-te-boom!" rolled the solemn drums, and Scalawag in a sort of decorous dance, keeping perfect time, insisted upon following the procession.
"My goodness me, Sammy Pinkney!" gasped Tess. "This is awful! Everybody's laughing at us! Can't you turn him around?"