“It’s only six miles out,” called Cora, “and this road runs straight into Squaton. They have quite a big strawberry farm out there.”
“Yes,” called back Bess, turning on more gasolene and throwing in third speed, “mother was just delighted when I told her we were going there for berries.”
Over the smooth, shaded road the cars sped, the Whirlwind, Cora’s machine, exactly attuned to the hum of the Flyaway, the car occupied by the twins. Just as two clocks, placed side by side, will soon tick in harmony, so two good engines may match each other in the hum of speed.
“I can smell the berries,” exclaimed Belle, as they neared a group of tall elms.
“We are almost there,” remarked Cora, “and I think I, too, smell something good.”
Under the trees by the roadside they espied some boys eating from a pail of berries.
“There,” said Bess, “that was what you scented. Those youngsters have been picking, I suppose, and that is their own personal allowance.”
“Berries! Five cents a quart!” called out one of the urchins, who at the same time stepped out into the road close to the slackened autos.
“Not to-day,” replied Cora, as she passed on, followed by the Flyaway.
“Wouldn’t you think they would want to take those home,” said Bess. “I should think they would be satisfied with their earnings at the patch.”