As early as they could in the afternoon after they had received their replies they started out. It was a gorgeous day, not too warm for comfort, and they chased each other about the road as if they were kittens, instead of responsible Camp Fire Girls out on a very business-like errand. After they had gone about a mile, which led them nearly to the village, it occurred to some brilliant person that it might be a good plan to ask somebody how to get to the address of the woman with the two-year-old victrola. It was The Willows, Lowlane, near Gray’s Road, and so far as the girls knew that might have been nearly anywhere. So they did ask at the post-office, where they had quite made friends with the old postmaster.
“It’s three miles down the pike,” said he. “Strike off on the left to Gray’s Road—you’ll see a signpost, I guess—and then turn down the first little lane you come to. They call it Lowlane now, the folks that own the house, but it was never anything but Low’s Lane till they came there.”
“The first little lane we come to?” repeated Winona.
The postmaster looked thoughtful. “Now, I don’t want to be too sure,” he said. “The first, or maybe the second. Elmer, do you recollect whether Low’s Lane is the first or second turning on the Gray’s Road way?”
“Second,” said Elmer the clerk readily.
“There now!” said the postmaster. “I might a’ told you wrong. I certainly had it fixed in my mind that it was the first.”
“Thank you,” said the girls. “It won’t be hard to find.”
It seemed, indeed, plain enough sailing, and the girls went on. The road was bordered with trees, and there were flowers they wanted to pick, and occasionally rabbits for Puppums to chase. He was not a swift enough runner to ever catch any of the rabbits he ran after, and the rabbits did not seem to mind, so Winona let him go on chasing.
“We’ve gone quite three miles, I know,” said Louise dismally when they had been walking some time. “And there’s no Lowlane—not even any Gray’s Road.” Louise had trained a good deal since she had been in camp, but she still felt long walks more than the other two did, who were slim. “I ‘don’t believe there’s no sich animal’ as Mrs. Martin, or a victrola. There aren’t any victrolas or any lanes, high or low, on earth. Woof—I’m tired!”
She fanned herself with her handkerchief, and the dog tried to jump at it, under the impression that she was playing a game with him.