“Where are the others?” asked Mother Blossom. “Tell them we get off in fifteen or twenty minutes, and I want them all to come and stay near me.”
Presently the boat scraped alongside a wide wharf and a number of people began to bustle off.
“Where are we going now?” asked Twaddles, his round eyes dancing with excitement. Twaddles certainly loved traveling.
“Don’t you ’member?” said Meg importantly. “We have to go to Four Crossways, and Aunt Polly will meet us. There’s a bus that says ‘Four Crossways,’ Mother.”
Mother Blossom had to see about the trunks and the kiddie-car, which, it seemed, were all 60 to go in a queer contrivance attached to the motor bus, a “trailer,” the driver called it.
“Isn’t that nice?” beamed Bobby, when he heard of this arrangement. “Our trunks will get there the same time we do.”
The children watched this trailer being loaded, and then all climbed into the bus and began the journey to Four Crossways. There were so many people on their way there that Bobby and Twaddles had to be squeezed into the front seat between the driver and the man who took the fares, and they liked this immensely.
“We’re going to Brookside,” volunteered Twaddles, who was sociably inclined, as soon as the driver seemed to have his engine fixed to suit him and the car was purring up the straight, wide road.
“To see Aunt Polly,” chimed in Bobby.
“There’s a lot of you, isn’t there?” said the driver, smiling.