It was agreed by all that they should bed in the hay. With robes and dust-cloths from their car they made themselves very comfortable in the heaped-up, fragrant mass of dried grass at the back of the barn.
“We are ‘bedding down’ just like cattle,” giggled Agnes. “Isn’t it fun?”
It was very comfortable, whether it was fun or not, and they soon went to sleep and slept as heavily as the seven sleepers—whoever they may have been—until daybreak. Tom Jonah lay at the open barn door and kept faithful watch.
Neale was astir first, and he built a fire and made coffee. Agnes smelled the coffee, and soon ran out in her stocking feet with her shoes in her hand.
“Oh, Neale!” she whispered shrilly. “This is the life! Isn’t it just great? I could live this way always. Where do you wash?”
“At the horse-trough,” said the boy.
“Oh-o! I don’t like that,” she objected.
“Dear me!” responded Neale, in a shrill falsetto, and grinning at her. “And you could live this way always!”
“Mean thing!” she retorted. “Folks can be nice if they do live like Gypsies.”
“Or hoboes,” added the boy.