THE SCREAM FROM THE CASTLE
Ned White thought he knew all the roads about Ferndale and the Birchlands, but on this afternoon he stumbled with his party into a perfectly strange byway. It did not seem to lead to any place in particular, but was one of those wagon roads cut through private property and public places alike, without regard to direction or terminus.
This meant that the Fire Bird was lost—couldn't tell which way to fly, and its driver did not know which way to direct the big red machine.
"Where in the world is this?" asked Tom, noting Ned looking from one side to the other in a puzzled sort of way.
"Well, if it is only in this world we are lucky," answered Ned. "I rather feared we had slipped off into another planet."
"It's cold, too," murmured Joe, for as the afternoon sun slowly set the bleak winter day hastened forward in all its penetrating bitterness.
"What time is it, anyway?" asked Roland of Ned.
"Four, and going to get dark in an hour. Jingo! I wish we had found some greens. The girls want to get the wreaths made up to-morrow."
"Why didn't we go to Tanglewood Park?" asked Roger. "There were plenty of nice evergreens there."
"Yes, why didn't we? That's the question. Let's try this road," and Ned turned into a branch of the highway he was driving on. "Perhaps we may get out there yet."