"I don't know how else we'll get there," Ken said.
"_Yay_--Hop!" shouted Smith, unexpectedly, with a most astonishing
siren-like whoop.
Before Ken had time to wonder whether it was a prearranged signal for
attack, or merely that the man had lost his wits, an ancient person in
overalls and a faded black coat appeared from behind the baggage-house.
"Hey? Well?" said he.
"Take these folks up to the Baldwin place," Smith commanded; "and don't
ye go losin' no wheels this time--ye got a young lady aboard." At which
sally all the old men chuckled creakily.
But the young lady showed no apprehension, only some relief, as she
stepped into the tottering surrey which Hop drove up beside the
platform. As the old driver slapped the reins on the placid horse's
woolly back, the station-agent turned to Smith.
"George," he said, "the little 'un ain't cracked. He's blind."
"Well, gosh!" said Smith, with feeling.
Winterbottom Road unrolled itself into a white length of half-laid dust,
between blown, sweet-smelling bay-clumps and boulder-filled meadows.
"Is it being nice?" Kirk asked, for the twentieth time since they had
left the train for the trolley-car.
Felicia had been thanking fortune that she'd remembered to stop at the
Asquam Market and lay in a few provisions. She woke from calculations of
how many meals her family could make of the supplies she had bought,
and looked about.
"We're near the bay," she said; "that is you can see little silvery
flashes of it between trees.
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