Beth drove slowly down the main street, up a lane, back by the lake road and along the street again; and this programme was repeated several times, until she thought a sufficient distance had been covered to convince the agent they had arrived at Brayley's. They way was pitch dark, but the horse was sensible enough to keep in the middle of the road, so they met with no accident more than to jolt over a stone now and then.
But now the most difficult part of the enterprise lay before them. The girls turned down the lane back of the main street and bumped over the ruts until they thought they had arrived at a spot opposite McNutt's own melon patch.
"What's wrong?" asked the agent, as they suddenly stopped with a jerk.
"This ought to be Brayley's," said Beth; "but it's so dark I'm not certain just where we are."
McNutt thrust his head out and peered into the blackness.
"Drive along a little," he whispered.
The girl obeyed.
"Stop—stop!" said he, a moment later. "I think that's them contwisted fifteen-cent mellings—over there!"
They all got out and Beth tied the horse to the fence. Peggy climbed over and at once whispered:
"Come on! It's them, all right."