"Wintergreen? wintergreen?" echoed Peter: "O, yes, I know it well enough. It spangles 'round. See, here's some; the girls make wreaths of it."
It was moneywort; but Horace never doubted that Peter was telling the truth, and supposed his grandmother would be delighted to see such quantities of wintergreen.
After some time spent in gathering this, Horace happened to remember that he wanted sarsaparilla.
"I reckon," thought he, "they'll be glad I came, if I carry home so many things."
Peter knew they could find sarsaparilla, for there was not a root of any sort which did not grow "in the pines;" of that he was sure. So they struck still deeper into the woods, every step taking them farther from home. Pincher followed, as happy as a dog can be; but, alas! never dreaming that serious trouble was coming.
The boys dug up various roots with their jackknives; but they both knew the taste of sarsaparilla, and could not be deceived.
"We hain't come to it yet," said Peter; "but it's round here somewheres, I'll bet a dollar."
"I'm getting hungry," said Horace: "isn't it about time for the dinner-bell to ring?"
"Pretty near," replied Peter, squinting his eyes and looking at the sky as if there was a noon-mark up there, and he was the boy to find it. "That bell will ring in fifteen minutes: you see if it don't."
But it did not, though it was high noon, certainly. Hours passed. Horace remembered they were to have had salt codfish and cream gravy for dinner. Aunt Madge had said so; also a roly-poly with foaming sauce. It must now be long ago since the sugar and butter were beaten together for that sauce. He wondered if there would be any pudding left. He was sure he should like it cold, and a glass of water with ice in it.