Ned hesitated, and then climbed in beside the solitary occupant of the car. The prospect of speeding through the sunlit morning world appealed to him, and he thanked the driver and snuggled into the other corner of the front seat.
“That’s all right, my boy,” answered the man, genially. “Glad to have company. How far are you going?”
“Just—just up the road a ways,” replied Ned, vaguely. “I was out for a walk, only this seemed better.”
“Well, it’s quicker, though it doesn’t give you quite so much exercise,” was the response. “You sing out when you’ve had enough. Maybe you can get a lift going back, if you’re not in too much of a hurry. Still, there isn’t much travel on this road. Most folks go around by Little Windsor. It’s longer, but the road’s a sight better. I go this way because I can do it quicker. There are some fierce bumps, though. Yell if you drop out!”
The car was a heavy one with good springs, and as long as Ned remained in it the bad bumps didn’t materialize. His companion evidently liked to talk, and Ned learned a good deal about him and his business, without, however, finding it very interesting. The man asked few questions, and so Ned merely supplied the information that he was from Hillman’s School and that he liked to walk and that he had all the morning to get back in. The car kept up an even, effortless speed of twenty-seven or -eight miles an hour, and it was finding himself booming up the straight grade over Candle Mountain that brought Ned to a sudden realization that if he meant to get back to school by twelve o’clock without undue effort he had best part company with his chatty acquaintance. So, at the summit of the hill, he said good-by, repeated his thanks, and got out.
“Guess you’re about six miles from Orstead,” said the man. “It won’t take you long to get back there, though, if you find a lift. Don’t hesitate to stop any one you see; they’ll be glad to take you in. Good-by!”
The gray automobile went on and was speedily dropping from sight beyond the nearly leafless forest. Ned watched it disappear, and then set his face toward home. The ride had certainly done him good, he told himself. The prospect of being called on to kick a dozen goals wouldn’t have dismayed him a mite at that moment. In fact, he suddenly realized that he was going to be horribly disappointed if the chance to attempt at least one goal from the field did not come to him, and he wondered why he had felt so craven last night.
After a mile or so a small, dust-covered car overhauled him and went by without a challenge from him. It was still only ten o’clock, and he had two hours yet, and he had no intention of begging a ride. Taken leisurely, the remaining miles would be covered without weariness and in plenty of time. When he had accomplished, as he reckoned, about half the distance to Orstead, his watch said seventeen minutes to eleven. The forenoon had grown appreciably warmer, and so had Ned. Beside the road was a little knoll carpeted with ashy-brown beech-leaves. Only a stone wall, bordered with blackberry briars, intervened.
Ned climbed across the wall and seated himself on the slope of the knoll. The land descended gently before him toward the river and the town, but neither was in sight. Presently, removing his cap, he stretched himself on his back and linked his fingers under his head. And presently, because the blue, sunlit, almost cloudless sky was too dazzling to gaze at long, he closed his eyes. And as he did so a strange, delicious languor descended upon him. He sighed luxuriously and stretched his legs into a more comfortable position. It was odd that he should feel sleepy at this time of day, he thought, and it wouldn’t do to stay here too long. He wished, though, that he didn’t have to get anywhere at any especial time. It would be great to just lie here like this and feel the sun on his face and—
At about that moment he stopped thinking at all and went sound asleep.