Both stooped to gather a handful as quickly as possible.
“Oh, the nasty things!” cried Patricia. “Their stems are just full of red juice.”
“Looks for all the world like blood,” commented the boy, dropping his flowers into the stream, which quickly whirled them away, and wiping his hands on his handkerchief. Patricia followed his example.
“It’s awful stuff to get off,” complained Patricia, still rubbing her hands vigorously, as they stepped out upon the state road almost under the wheels of a motorcycle.
“Good Heavens, girl! Watch your step. That was a narrow shave.”
“I’ll say it was. Why, it’s coming back,” added Patricia, as the car wheeled about and approached them again.
“They’re troopers,” breathed Jack, as the car stopped beside them.
Two young men gazed searchingly at the two disheveled figures before them.
“What have you been doing?” demanded the man in the side car.
“Gathering wild flowers in the woods,” replied the girl promptly.