“Course we’re not lost,” asserted Bobby stoutly.
“Course not,” echoed Meg. “I think the brook is right past those three big trees. Come on, Dot, let’s run and see who gets there first.”
Dot allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.
“I’ll count for you,” said Bobby, glad to see her stop crying. “One––two––three––go!”
Away went Meg and Dot. Meg had intended to let Dot win, because she was so much smaller she couldn’t be expected to run as well as her older sister. But Meg’s good intentions came to nothing. Dot had an unfortunate habit of shutting her eyes tight when she ran, and the woods, of all places, are where it pays to keep one’s eyes wide open. Poor Dot, running over 90 the uneven ground with her eyes closed, crashed headlong into a wild blackberry bush.
“Oh, ow!” she wailed shrilly. “Meg, Meg! Ow!”
Her face and hands were scratched and bleeding and her dress was badly torn by the time Meg and Bobby got her free from the prickly bush.
“I won’t go,” sobbed the unfortunate child, rubbing her smarting face. “I’ll lie down in the grass and the birds can cover me with leaves. Nasty old woods!”
“But you’ll have to come,” urged Bobby. “I don’t b’lieve it’s much further, Dot. Come on.”
“Then I’ll take of my shoes and stockings,” said Dot.