“There’s the store,” gasped Ted, catching a glimpse of the welcome landmark, and he urged the blacks faster.
“64’s just whistled,” announced Peleg, as the boy drew up in front of the steps.
“Quick, take the reins, Jennie, and wait here. I can run to the station faster than I can drive.” And jumping to the ground, the young homesteader sped down the track, arriving in just time enough to recover his breath as 64 stopped.
Warm were the greetings between the little mother and Ted and his sisters, and they were prolonged until Sallie suddenly asked:
“Where’s Phil?”
“He’s sparking. It was only luck I got your telegram in time to get here. It didn’t come until this morning, and if a little friend of mine hadn’t ridden twenty-five miles, I should not have received it.”
“Must we travel twenty-five miles more tonight?” groaned Margie. Then, seeing nothing but trees all about, she asked: “How do we go, fly?”
“You will stay at Chikau tonight and we’ll drive home—just think, Momsy, home—tomorrow.”
“But where is Chikau? I’ve been looking for it ever since I got off the train,” declared the younger girl.
Before her brother could reply, however, Sallie exclaimed: