“There’s no need of getting stuffy about it,” chuckled his brother. “You could have stopped them any time by saying ‘whoa.’ Just remember that—if you are ever driving alone, which you won’t be, with my permission.
“Good thing the blacks are well trained or they would be running yet, for all you would have—”
“Oh, keep quiet!” snapped Phil. And with another chuckle the younger boy subsided.
For several miles they proceeded in silence.
“Wonder how much farther it is to the brook where we turn off,” Phil said, at last,
“Can’t be more than a couple of miles. Why?”
“Because I think we’d better hurry, so we can make everything shipshape before night.”
“Then let me drive; if the horses run away again we may pass the brook.” And snatching the reins, Ted put the blacks into a smart trot.
In vain Phil protested, but his brother only bade him sit tight and not bounce off the seat—a thing which they both found difficulty not to do, for the road grew rougher every rod.
“T-there’s t-the br-rook,” stammered the elder boy, suddenly. “For goodness’ sake, slow up. There isn’t any road at all through the woods.”