“It does seem a long way,” said Helen sympathetically, “but there is a Gray’s Road, for I’m sure I see a signpost a little ahead of us.”
“It’s probably one of those automobile directions that says ‘Three miles back to the village—seventeen miles forward to Jonesville. Use Smith’s Lubricating Oil and Robinson Tires!’” and Louise shrugged her shoulders.
Nevertheless, when they came up to the signpost, although it did advise automobiles about several kinds of supplies they ought to have, it also said that this was Gray’s Road. They turned as they had been told, and went down it, in search of their second landmark, Low’s Lane. This, unfortunately, wasn’t in sight. “Let’s ask,” said Winona as they passed a little old house by the side of the road, and steered the others up the path that led to the porch. It was a ramshackle, unpainted packing-box of a place, with an old, old lady, heavily shawled, curled up in a rocker, for inhabitant. Helen was pushed forward to speak to her. “Can you tell us if we are near Low’s Lane?” she asked, politely.
“Hey?” said the old lady. “I’m a little deaf.”
Helen said it over again as loudly as she could.
“Rain?” said the old lady. “No, no—it ain’t goin’ to rain!”
“Low’s Lane!” screamed Helen.
“What?” said the old lady.
“Ask her about the victrola,” suggested Winona. “Sometimes deaf people can hear one word when they can’t another. Perhaps she’d know by that where we wanted to go.”
“We want a place where they’re selling a victrola!” shouted Helen.