“What made you stick your head through the fence like that, William?” his mother asked him.
“I—now—I was pickin’ a flower to take in the auto with us,” Trouble explained. “I reached through the fence to get the posie.”
“Oh, the little darling!” murmured Jan, kissing him. “I’ll pick flowers for you,” she offered. “Don’t stick your head through the fence again.”
She went out and found where her little brother had reached out to gather some flowers that grew just beyond the fence. He could have gone out of the gate to get them, but, instead, he reached through the pickets. Jan picked some blossoms and took them to Trouble.
Such happenings as this did not worry Mrs. Martin much, for so many of them took place each day that she was getting used to them. Trouble soon stopped his crying and went out to play with Ted and Janet, while their mother went on with the preparations for the auto tour.
Mr. Martin, that day, brought home the small, stout box to hold the Cardwell albums, and they were put in and locked up, ready to be taken to Mr. Reuben Cardwell of Bentville.
In a few days all was in readiness for the start. Mr. Martin left his store in charge of his head clerk, the house was closed up, the auto had been piled with valises, and the tent, for sleeping at night, had been strapped on the running-board. In piled the Curlytops and Trouble and Mr. Martin blew the horn.
“Good-by! Good-by!” called friends, neighbors and the playmates of the children.
“Good-by! Good-by!” echoed the Curlytops.
Just then along came running Jack Turton, a funny little fat chap. He was all out of breath.