“I do hope that Reuben doesn’t tag after us, or want to come with us,” said Alice, when they were in the boats.
“No, but he was rather hinting when we questioned him about Bear Pond. I wouldn’t be surprised but what he got one of his ‘half days off,’ and became our escort.”
“He means all right,” murmured Natalie. “Poor fellow!”
“You may well say that, if you accept any more flowers from him,” warned Alice.
“I don’t see why. They are only wild blossoms, and I’d pick them myself if he didn’t.”
“That’s Nat!” exclaimed Mabel with a laugh.
They rowed leisurely to another cove about which Reuben had told them, and then, once more concealing the oars, they struck off into a path that, they had been assured led directly to Bear Pond, and to that portion most likely to be the camping-place of the Gypsies, since it was near a main-traveled road.
“Be sure we have everything!” exclaimed Alice, as they disembarked. “For it may be a long time before we get back.”
“Don’t look for trouble,” warned Mrs. Bonnell.
Laden with their parcels and bundles containing mostly food, for they intended to have a substantial lunch in the woods, they trudged on. Mrs. Bonnell industriously blazed the trail as they proceeded, though it was scarcely necessary, for the path seemed often used.
“But we may be able to see the white blaze of the wood in the dark,” she insisted.
“Oh, if we could only bribe a few lightning bugs to stay on each chipped-off place,” suggested Marie, “we could easily pick out the path then.”
They laughed at her quaint conceit, and proceeded. The way was easier than the first one they had essayed, and they made better time. In the distance they had occasional glimpses of farmhouses set down in some hollow. Farmhouses of an ancient régime, it seemed, since the land about them was little tilled now. There were only small gardens, not prolific ones at that.
They came from the path out upon a country road, with many and deep ruts in its dirt surface.
“We are to keep along this for half a mile, and then take the path to the right,” read Marie from the written directions that had not been forgotten this time.
“Oh, there’s an old well sweep, and I’m sure there must be an old oaken bucket going with it!” cried Mabel. “I must have a drink,” and she started toward the gate of a farmhouse they were approaching.