Part 12 (2/2)

”Well, maybe we can manage to run over one,” chuckled Betty, as they pa.s.sed a farmhouse and several chickens scuttled squawking across the road. ”Then we can have one good and fresh. For goodness' sake, what is Mollie tooting that horn for?” she added, as the raucous signal came from the car behind them, ”Has she stopped the car, Grace? Look and see.”

”It's stopped deader than a door nail,” said Grace, obligingly s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g about in her seat and fixing on the road behind them a disapproving eye.

”Now what do you suppose can be the trouble this time? If she has had a blowout or something, I'm not going to help fix the old thing--”

”You couldn't fix the blowout, dear, but you might help with the tire,”

Betty said, with a laugh, as she stopped the roadster and jumped to the road. ”Come on, she seems to be excited about something--”

”Goodness, I hope it isn't another highway robber,” said Grace anxiously, stopping in the middle of the road at the dreadful thought. ”I don't see any, but--”

”You don't see any because there _isn't_ any,” Betty a.s.sured her, taking her by the arm and leading her decidedly forward. ”You don't suppose there is a whole Robin Hood's band in this woods, do you?”

Mollie and Amy and Mrs. Irving came running to meet them excitedly--or at least, Mollie and Amy did the running, while their chaperon followed more slowly.

”There are blackberries in there, whole bushels and bushels of them!”

Mollie called. ”You could see them from the road, and there you girls pa.s.sed right by them without even looking.”

”Blackberries!” repeated Grace resignedly, as she felt in her pocket to see if she had any candy left. ”Just listen to her speaking of blackberries when what I'm dying for is a good big steak with onions on top of it--”

”Stop it,” cried Mollie indignantly, while the others felt their mouths begin to water. ”The idea of mentioning steak--But here,” she broke off, seizing Grace's hand and dragging her toward the woods, ”come with me and pick berries if you value your life. Lucky we brought those tin pails along.”

”But why,” protested Grace patiently, as she was dragged along, ”should we want to pick berries?”

”To eat,” replied Mollie, attacking a bush that was fairly black with the luscious ripe fruit. ”And besides,” she added, lowering her voice to a confidential pitch, ”Mrs. Irving said that if she could find some flour and baking powder in the lodge she would make us a steamed blackberry pudding for supper.”

Grace stared for a moment then, without another word, set to work on the loaded bush.

”You might have told me that before,” she grumbled, her mouth full of berries. ”You always did have a mean disposition, Mollie.”

To which Mollie's only reply was a chuckle and a sly wink at Betty, who was working close at her side.

They worked on happily for a few minutes, then suddenly Amy straightened up and stood quiet as though she were listening to something.

The girls, whose nerves were still a little on edge from their recent adventure, demanded to know in no uncertain tones what was the matter with her.

”N-nothing,” Amy answered a little sheepishly. ”I thought I heard a little rustling among the leaves, that's all.”

”Probably a breeze coming up,” said Betty matter-of-factly, and they went on with their berry picking.

But it was not long before a second disturbance came, and this time they all heard it. It was, as Amy had said, a rustling sound. However, it was louder this time, as though several heavy bodies were pus.h.i.+ng through the underbrush on the other side of the road.

”Perhaps we had better go and see what is making all the noise,” said Mrs.

Irving, her light tone successfully hiding an undercurrent of nervousness.

”I guess we have picked enough berries for our pudding, anyway.”

The girls picked up their pails and started for the road, Betty in the lead. But when the latter reached the outer fringe of bushes she started back, almost treading on Mollie's toes and causing her to drop her pail in alarm.

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