On they went and on; and soon the village was behind, far behind; houses were drawing apart from each other. The forest was closing about the farms, separating them.... Now the car was on the smooth hard road again, thick tree growths on both sides.
With a contented sigh, Betsy closed her eyes and fell fast asleep. Delia had long ago surrendered to the sand-man. Molly was trying her best to keep awake; but it was obvious that she could not hold out long. Timmie’s eyes were beginning to film with fatigue, but he fought it manfully. Even the Clark twins had become silent. But the other children were as wide-awake as when they started.
More yellow road and more yellow road—more green trees and more green trees. In the front seat, Rosie bounced. “Oh Maida,” she called, “it seems to me I can’t wait. Will we ever get there?”
Maida’s eyes danced. “Oh in an hour or so,” she said airily.
“An hour,” Laura groaned. “We have gone a thousand miles already.”
Even as she spoke, the motor turned smoothly, the horn emitting a long silvery gurgle. They entered, between two massive stone posts, a long avenue which curved away in the distance like a wide gray tape thrown amidst the trees.
“Maida Westabrook you fibber!” Rosie exclaimed, “we’re here now!”
Maida only twinkled.
On they went. On both sides grew great trees. But, unlike the forests that stretched away from the public roads which they had just traversed, these woods had been freed of their underbrush. The grass beneath them was like velvet and lying on it, as though liquid gold had oozed or poured through the branches, shone tiny splashes and great pools of sunlight. It looked as though the whole green earth were caught in a golden net.
On and on! To the impatient children it seemed that they went miles.