In just a moment he came out, buckling his brief case as he came down the steps.
“They wanted to come,” said Sam apologetically, indicating his passengers. “I told ’em they’d have to walk home, because you were going over to Clayton.”
“Yes, can’t have you along this trip,” declared Father Blossom regretfully. “Where are you going, Sam?”
Sam was driving further into the foundry yard. He turned with a half-sheepish grin to answer his employer.
“Going to drive in around the pump and make a turn,” he said. “Meg doesn’t like to be in the car when it’s backing, so I thought I wouldn’t worry her.”
So Sam drove carefully around the piles of iron and scraps and, making a wide detour at the pump, drove out of the yard again. Meg smiled her thanks. She wished she didn’t feel that a car was likely to tip over when it was 57 backed, but she was sure she couldn’t help that feeling.
“Now I s’pose we’ll have to get out,” murmured Bobby, as they came to the sign-post with a finger pointing to “Oak Hill, 2 miles,” in one direction, and another finger reading, “Clayton, 8 miles,” pointing another way.
“Yes, and don’t loiter,” directed Father Blossom. “Go straight home and tell Mother if I can I’ll be back for supper, but not to wait for me.”
Philip was glad to be out of the car, and he frisked ahead, barking and trying to tempt some one to run a race with him.
“This looks valuable,” said Bobby, picking up a pebble he found at one side of the road. “Wait a minute, Meg, till I see.”