“It is certain that we can neither crawl over, under, or through that,” said Elsa Willoughby, speaking decidedly, and evidently feeling rather bored.
“We must follow the fence south,” said Anne, cheerfully; “it ends somewhere, you know.”
For ten or fifteen minutes they went on without speaking. It is not easy to walk through uneven, briery fields, much less to lead bicycles.
“The dead tree is behind us, now,” said Miss Letty, stopping suddenly; “and ought we not to come to the river? We must cross it before we reach the turnpike.”
“I wonder if there is any bridge here in the fields where there is no road?” said Martica, rather sarcastically.
“Oh, look at those black clouds!” cried Louise, “They have whirled about and are coming directly toward us.”
Then for the first time Anne realized that not only was she uncertain of her whereabouts, but that they were likely to be overtaken by the fury of a summer storm; for the clouds were followed by a yellow underscud whose meaning she well understood.
“At most we can only get a wetting,” said Miss Letty, putting her arm around Anne; her sunny disposition conquering her feeling of alarm, when she saw her friend’s distress. “I’m sure that I heard a dog bark, too; and if there is a dog near by, there must be a house.”
“Here is the end of the barbed wire fence,” called Anne, who had been hurrying ahead; “and a pent lane leads from it. As this is the inside end, if we follow it, we must get somewhere; for there are ever so many roads like these that run from the turnpike into back lots and woodlands. I think we would all better keep in the middle of the lane away from the trees,” she added, as a flash of lightning almost dazzled her. “Father says it is always best to keep in the open if you are out in a storm.”
“Do you know where you are going, or are we lost?” asked Elsa Willoughby, shortly.