Sam laughed good-naturedly as he turned the horse into the road he had chosen.
"You'd like a good time to last as long as possible, wouldn't you, Bobby?" he said. "Well, with all the short cuts and all the time saving I can do, we won't be home before dark; does that suit you?"
That suited Bobby exactly and he began to whistle.
"Say," Twaddles cried, interrupting the whistling suddenly. "Say, Sam,
I want to get out."
"You do? Why?" asked Sam, without turning his head.
"I saw a glove back there in the road," Twaddles announced. "A nice glove, Sam, that somebody lost."
Sam said "Whoa!" to the horse and turned to look at Twaddles.
"How far back—a mile?" he asked suspiciously.
"Just a little way," Twaddles replied earnestly. "I want to go get it,
Sam. Please. It's a good glove."
"I suppose it is a worn-out mitten, but this is your trip, partly," said Sam, who was kindness itself and usually did all he could to make the four little Blossoms happy. "So run along, but if you're not back in an hour I am going on without you."