“But never again—if I can help it,” cried Mrs. Heard. “It is all right for you young folks; but my blood is not so young as yours; nor is my appetite for adventure and what you call ‘fun’ quite so keen as it used to be.”
It was a fact. The young folks only laughed at that memorable experience when they were overtaken by the storm. It was all what Agnes called “fun.”
The touring party planned a roundabout way home to Milton, in order to see a part of the country that they had not before driven through.
“And we’ll take the good roads, too. I understand more about this map and guide book than I did,” proclaimed Neale O’Neil.
However, at one point they agreed to leave the better traveled roads so as to spend another night with the crossroads blacksmith and “Mother.” And they half hoped to meet the Shepards near there, also.
“That’ll bring us around past the Higgins farm, too,” Neale said, thoughtfully.
“Oh, Neale! I want to take a look into that barn myself,” cried Agnes.
“Pshaw!” responded her boy friend. “If that car of Mr. Collinger’s was ever there, Saleratus Joe and his chum have got it away long since, of course.”
But Agnes was hopeful. She usually was of a sanguine mind.