Grandma Padgett felt anxious, and her anxiety increased as the dusk thickened.
“There don't seem to be any taverns along this road,” she said; “and I hate to ask at any farmer's for accommodations over night. We don't know the neighborhood, and a body hates to be a bother.”
“Let's camp out,” volunteered Bobaday.
“We'd need the cover off of the wagon to do that, and kittles,” said Grandma Padgett, “and dried meat and butter and cake and things out of the wagon.”
“Maybe Zene's back in the woods campin' somewhere,” exclaimed aunt Corinne. “And he has his gun, and can shoot birds too.”
“No, he's goin' along the right road and expectin' us to follow. And as like as not has found a place to put up,—while we're off on the wrong road.”
“How'll we ever get to brother Tip's, then?” propounded aunt Corinne. “Maybe we're in Missouri, or Iowa, and won't never get to the Illinois line!”
“Humph!” remarked Robert her nephew; “do you s'pose folks could go to Iowa or Missouri as quick as this! Cars'd have to put on steam to do it.”
“And I forgot about the State lines,” murmured his aunt. “The' hasn't been any ropes stretched along't I saw.”
“They don't bound States with ropes,” said Robert Day.