"Shucks! Think of all you'll have to tell us when you get home. Don't be a cry baby, child."
Promptly at nine Charlie and Kent whirled up to the gate in a carryall. The driver was the same man who had moved the Dudley family five years before. He greeted Lydia with a grin.
"You've grow'd some, eh, Lydia? Where's the rest of the women folks?"
"Here come Miss Towne and Olga!" cried Kent. "Margery'll be late, of course."
At nine-fifteen Margery was driven up in state by Elviry, and at nine-twenty the carryall was off to the north in a cloud of dust, leaving Adam howling dismally at the gate.
For fifteen miles the way led up and down hill over a dusty country road that wound for the most part past great wheat farms and grazing lands, vividly green under the June sky. Here and there were woods of young oak and birch, self sowed, replacing the pine long since cleared off. For the last five miles there were few farms. The rolling hills disappeared and low lying lakes, surrounded by marshes took their places. The young rice bordering the lakes was tenderly green and the marshes were like fields of corn with their thick growth of cat-tail. Beyond the marshes the hills rose again, with the road winding like a black ribbon over their curving bosoms into the vivid sky beyond.
"Where the hills begin again, that's the reservation," said Charlie.
"Where are the pines?" asked Lydia. "I thought it was all pines."
"You'll see plenty, before the trip's over. Just beyond that group of buildings is the reservation line."
The buildings Charlie pointed to were the first that had appeared in several miles. A two-story, unpainted frame house with several barns and sheds comprised the group. There was a sign on the front of the house.