We don’t,
And cover miles and miles of ground,
we don’t.
And roam and roam and roam and roam,
And roam some more and roam and roam;
And never never go back home,
we don’t.
“Look!” Pee-wee yelled at the top of his voice. “The smoke! Look! It’s way off there!”
We all looked and g-o-o-d night, there was the column of smoke away, way to the north of us, and there, as sure as I’m sitting here writing, was that little house right straight ahead of us, about fifty yards off.
“The plot grows thicker!” I said, just leaning limp against a tree. “We’ve been going farther and farther away from camp all the time. Chocolate Drop must be burning up refuse. Where are we at, anyway?”