“If they’re so horrid, I shouldn’t think you’d want ’em,” said Frank.
“Well, you send ’em just the same,” they answered.
Everybody shook hands all around, and Alice, as she released Peanut’s hand, managed to slap his face lightly, and ran laughing up the steps. The Scouts tramped away into the village, while the girls waved their handkerchiefs from the porch.
“Yes, Art,” Peanut said, “girls are a pesky nuisance. They look so ugly in pink dresses.”
“Oh, shut up on that!” Art cried. “You’ve got a ducking coming to you in the next brook. Anyhow, mine wasn’t a face-slapping tomboy!”
“No, she was just too sweet,” laughed Peanut, as he dodged Art’s swing at his head.
At the village they stocked up on provisions—bacon, condensed milk, tea and coffee, flour and sweet chocolate—for their provisions were well used up, and soon they were plodding up the road, northward, and entering the Franconia Notch.
The road was quite unlike that down which they had tramped two days before, on the west side of Kinsman. It was macadamized and full of motors.
“This is one of the through highways from the south to the northern side of the mountains,” said the Scout Master. “I fear we’ve hit it at about the worst time of day, too, because we’re only twelve miles from the Profile House, which is the end of the day’s run for many cars. Most of ’em seem to be going in that direction.”
“I should think they were,” said Rob. “My blanket is covered with dust already.”