“We must be up and ready to start at eight thirty,” was Miss Ashton’s good night instruction.
Promptly at that hour, they took their seats with a few other people in the roomy, comfortable bus.
“My name is James Jackson,” announced the conductor, as he checked up the list of passengers, “but most people call me ‘Jim.’”
Soon they were out of the city and on the open road leading to Chester and Bridgewater, on the southeastern coast. The roads ran up and down hills constantly, and around all kinds of curves, crossing and recrossing the railroad over which they had ridden the day before.
“This is heaps of fun!” cried Nancy, as they rolled down one particularly long slope. “It’s just like a great roller coaster. I hope there are lots of roads like this.”
“So many you’ll get tired of them,” commented the driver, without enthusiasm.
“No danger at all!”
A beautiful lake suddenly appeared on the right, and soon was left behind; then acres and acres of pasture land, dotted with cattle, stretched out on either side.
“Oh!” squealed Nancy suddenly. “Did you see that?”
“What?” inquired the others eagerly, looking back to see what they had missed.