The only side road they could find proved to be no more than a track through the little wood. They almost passed it a second time, and hesitated at the gate—a sturdy five-barred gate bearing “Private” on a conspicuous label—debating whether this “could be right.” They still suffered a spasm of fear at the thought of trespass, and to open this gate and march up an unknown private road pushing a hand-cart seemed to them an act of terrible aggression.
“We might leave the cart just inside,” suggested Blanche.
“And get our food stole,” said Mrs Gosling.
“There’s no one about,” urged Blanche.
“There’s that broomstick woman,” said Millie. “She may have followed us.”
“I’m sure I dunno if it’s safe to go foragin’ in among them trees, neither,” continued Mrs Gosling. “Are you sure this is right, Blanche?”
“Well, of course, I’m not sure,” replied Blanche, with a touch of temper.
They peered through the trees and listened, but no sign of a house was to be seen, and all was now silent save for the long drone of innumerable bees about their afternoon business.
“Oh! come on!” said Blanche at last. She was rapidly learning to solve all their problems by this simple formula....
In the wood they found refuge from those attendant flies which had hung over them so persistently.