“I’d like to know how we ever got on the Lebanon Springs road,” pondered Malcolm as they began to retrace their steps.
“I may be mistaken,” replied Rob, “but I think we walked. Anyhow, my legs feel that way.”
“I’m glad you think it’s such a good joke,” said Malcolm wearily. “All I know is that when I get home, if I ever do, I’m going to get straight into bed and go to sleep.”
“Supper first, for me,” said Evan.
“All I want is a drink,” wailed Jelly from his accustomed position in the rear of the party. “The lake isn’t very far over there. I’ve a good mind to look for it. I’m terribly thirsty.”
“You’ll stay right on the road,” said Rob curtly. “I don’t propose to spend the rest of the night hunting for you, Jelly. We’ll be home in half an hour, likely, and you can drink all you want to.”
“That doesn’t help now, though,” grumbled Jelly.
A few minutes later the rural postman clattered up from behind in his buggy and passed them in the direction of Riverport, but not before Rob had hailed him and asked the distance to school.
“A little over a mile, I guess,” was the reply.
That was encouraging and they pegged along. Then a dark object grew out of the mist ahead, and when they reached it they found that it was the dilapidated wagon and the dejected horse and the ill-natured farmer. He had broken a trace, and as they gathered around he looked up and scowled angrily.