They all came out of the Susan House, and he pushed his cart into the road.
“I almost hate to leave it,” said aunt Corinne, “because we did have a good time after we were scared so bad.”
“Seems as if a body always hates to leave a place,” remarked Bobaday. “The next people that come along will never know we lived here one night. But _we'll_ always remember it.”
Grandma Padgett before entering the carriage, was trying to make the pedler take pay for the food her family ate. He smiled at her deferentially, but backed away with his cart.
“What a man this is!” she exclaimed impatiently. “We owe you for two meals' vittles.”
“I have some half a dozen kittles,” murmured Mr. Matthews.
“But won't you take the money? The landlord was keen enough for his.”
The pedler had got his rhyme about Grandma Padgett completed. He left her, still stretching her hand out, and rattled his cart up to the children who were leaning from the carriage towards him.
“She is a lady of renown,” chanted J. D. Matthews, indicating their grandmother.
She makes good butter by the pound, Her hand is kind, so is her tongue; But when she comes I want to run!
He accordingly ran, rattling the cart like a hailstorm before him, downhill; and out of their sight.
“Ah, there he goes!” sighed aunt Corinne, “and he hardly limps a bit. I hope we'll see him again some time.”
“I might 'a forced the money into his pocket,” reflected Grandma Padgett, as she took up the lines. “But I'd rather feel in debt to that kind, simple soul than to many another. Why didn't we ask him if he saw Zene's wagon up the road? These poor horses want oats. They'll be glad to sight the white cover once more.”
“I would almost rather have him come along,” decided Robert Day, “than to find the wagon. For he could make a camp anywhere, and speak his poetry all the time. What fun he must have if he wants to stay in the woods all night. I expect if he wanted to hide he could creep into that cart and stretch out, with his face where he could smell the honey and ginger cakes. I'd like to have a cart and travel like that. Are we going on to the 'pike again, Grandma?”
“Not till we find Zene,” she replied, driving resolutely forward on the strange road.
A covered wagon appeared on the first crossroad, moving steadily between rows of elder bushes. The carriage waited its approach. A figure like Zene's sat resting his feet on the tongue behind the old gray and the old white.