and see the town.
So Mrs. Farrington settled the matter by deciding to take the drive. And then she said, “We can leave the luncheon-kit at some hotel to be filled, then we can pick it up again, and take it along with us, and when we get hungry we can eat a light supper in the car.”
“Great head, Mother!” cried Roger, “you are truly a genius!”
An open landau was engaged, and Roger and the three ladies started for the drive. They spent a delightful hour viewing the points of interest in the city, which the obliging driver pointed out to them.
They smiled when they came to the Insane Asylum, and though the grounds looked attractive, they concluded not to go there to stay, even though their old farmer friend had seemed to think it an appropriate place for them.
“It’s a strange thing,” said Roger, “that people who do not ride in automobiles always think that people who do are crazy. I’m sure I don’t know why.”
“I wouldn’t blame anybody for thinking Mr. Phelps crazy, if they had seen him this morning,” said Patty.
“That’s only because you’re not accustomed to seeing men in racing costume,” said Roger. “After you’ve seen a few more rigs like that, you won’t think anything of them.”
“That’s so,” said Patty thoughtfully, “and if I had never before seen a farmer in the queer overalls, and big straw hat, that our old country gentleman wore, I daresay I should have thought his appearance quite as crazy as that of Mr. Phelps.”
“You have a logical mind, Patty,” said Mrs. Farrington, “and on the whole I think you are right.”
Chapter XIII.
A Stormy Ride
The time passed quickly and soon the drive was over, and after calling for their well-filled luncheon-basket, the quartet returned to the repair shop to find Mr. Farrington all ready to start.
So into the car they all bundled, and Patty learned that each fresh start during a motor journey revives the same feeling of delight that is felt at the beginning of the trip.
She settled herself in her place with a little sigh of contentment, and remarked that she had already begun to feel at home in The Fact, and she only wished it was early morning, and they were starting for the day, instead of but for a few hours.
“Don’t you worry, my lady,” said Roger, as he laid his hands lightly on the steering-wheel, “you’ve a good many solid hours of travel ahead of you right now. It’s four o’clock, and if we reach Pine Branches by ten, I will pat this old car fondly on the head, before I put her to bed.”
The next few hours were perhaps the pleasantest they had yet spent. In June, from four to seven is a delightful time, and as the roads were perfect, and the car went along without the slightest jar or jolt, and without even a hint of an accident of any sort, there was really not a flaw to mar their pleasure.
As the sun set, and the twilight began to close around them, Patty thought she had never seen anything more beautiful than the landscape spread out before them. A broad white road stretched ahead like a ribbon. On either side were sometimes green fields, darkening in the fading light, and sometimes small groves of trees, which stood black against the sky.
Then the sunset’s colours faded, the trees grew blacker and denser, and their shadows ceased to fall across the darkening road.
Roger lighted the lamps, and drew out extra fur robes, for the evening air was growing chill.
“Isn’t it wonderful!” said Patty, almost in a whisper. “Motoring by daylight is gay and festive, but now, to glide along so swiftly and silently through the darkness, is so strange that it’s almost solemn. As it grows darker and blacker, it seems as if we were gliding away,—away into eternity.”
“For gracious’ sake, child,” said Mrs. Farrington, “don’t talk like that! You give me the shivers; say something more lively, quick!”
Patty laughed merrily.
“That was only a passing mood,” she said. “Really, I think it’s awfully jolly for us to be scooting along like this, with our lamps shining. We’re just like a great big fire-fly or a dancing will-o’-the-wisp.”
“You have a well-trained imagination, Patty,” said Mrs. Farrington, laughing at the girl’s quick change from grave to gay. “You can make it obey your will, can’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Patty demurely, “what’s the use of having an imagination, if you can’t make it work for you?”
The car was comfortably lighted inside as well as out, with electric lamps, and the occupants were, as Mr. Farrington said, as cozy and homelike as if they were in a gipsy waggon.
Patty laughed at the comparison and said she thought that very few gipsy waggons had the luxuries and modern appliances of The Fact.
“That may be,” said Mr. Farrington, “but you must admit the gipsy waggon is the more picturesque vehicle. The way they shirr that calico arrangement around their back door, has long been my admiration.”
“It is beautiful,” said Patty, “and the way the stove-pipe comes out of the roof,——”
“And the children’s heads out ’most anywhere,” added Elise; “yes, it’s certainly picturesque.”
“Speaking of gipsy waggons makes me hungry,” said Mrs. Farrington. “What time is it, and how soon shall we reach the Warners’?”
“It’s after eight o’clock, my dear,” said her husband, “and I’m sure we can’t get there before ten, and then, of course, we won’t have dinner at once, so do let us partake of a little light refreshment.”
“Seems to me we are always eating,” said Patty, “but I’m free to confess that I’m about as hungry as a full grown anaconda.”
Without reducing their speed, and they were going fairly fast, the tourists indulged in a picnic luncheon. There was no tea making, but sandwiches and little cakes and glasses of milk were gratefully accepted.
“This is all very well,” said Mrs. Farrington, after supper was over, “and I wouldn’t for a moment have you think that I’m tired or frightened, or the least mite timid. But if I may have my way, hereafter we’ll make no definite promises to be at any particular place at any particular time. I wish when you had telephoned, John, you had told the Warners that we wouldn’t arrive until to-morrow. Then we could have stopped somewhere, and spent the night like civilised beings, instead of doing this gipsy act.”
“It would have been a good idea,” said Mr. Farrington thoughtfully, “but it’s a bit too late now, so there’s no use worrying about it. But cheer up, my friend, I think we’ll arrive shortly.”
“I think we won’t,” said Roger. “I don’t want to be discouraging, but we haven’t passed the old stone quarry yet, and that’s a mighty long way this side of Pine Branches.”
“You’re sure you know the way, aren’t you, Roger?” asked his mother, her tone betraying the first trace of anxiety she had yet shown.
“Oh, yes,” said Roger, and Patty wasn’t sure whether she imagined it, or whether the boy’s answer was not quite as positive as it was meant to sound.
“Well, I’m glad you do,” said Mr. Farrington, “for I confess I don’t. We’re doubtless on the right road, but I haven’t as yet seen any familiar landmarks.”
“We’re on the right road, all right,” said Roger. “You know there’s a long stretch this side of Pine Branches, without any villages at all.”
“I