Things began to happen, however, bright and early the next morning. "The
kids," as Neale called the two smaller Corner House girls and Sammy
Pinkney, were out of their beds betimes, and out of doors as soon as
they were dressed. The blacksmith's house was an old-fashioned place,
and there were many things interesting to the little folks about it.
Besides, if there had not been a thing in sight, the three juveniles
would have dug up something interesting in a very short time.
The blacksmith was already off to start his smithy fire in the shop at
the fork of the roads. "Mother," with the help of a neighbor's daughter
called in for this emergency, was hurrying about the kitchen and dining
room preparing the huge breakfast she thought necessary for these
unexpected guests.
Neale O'Neil came out, yawning as he had gone to bed, and opened the
door of the shed in which the automobile had been lodged in lieu of a
proper garage. Neale always looked over the car before they started the
day's run, as all careful chauffeurs should.
The children ran for the automobile, of course, before Neale could back
it out of the shed; and as Tess and Dot and Sammy jumped on the steps to
ride out, a white hen flew from the tonneau with a wild squawk.
"Oh, for goodness' sake!" cried Tess. "What do you s'pose that hen was
doing there?"
The hen had flown to the top rail of the calf pen, and there proceeded
to "cut, cut, cu-da-cut!" just as loud as she could.
"Aw, what are you squalling about?" Sammy demanded. "Nobody hurt you."
"Maybe she wants to go to ride with us in our automobile," said Dot
demurely.
When the automobile was backed out upon the gravel it was Tess who
looked into the tonneau and spied the reason for Mrs. White Hen's loud
remarks. There it lay, white and warm, upon the rear seat.
"Goodness! Goodness me!" gasped Tess, with clasped hands. "Isn't that
cunning? She laid an egg right here for us, Dot."
"My," Dot observed, "maybe she thought she could pay for a ride with
us."
"I guess she must know something about the way gas has gone up,"
chuckled Neale O'Neil, "and she wanted to pay for her share."
They had to secure that egg at once and run to ask "mother" if they
could have it. Though, as Dot Kenway declared:
"It's the most mysteriousest thing why that blacksmith calls her
'mother' when she isn't, but she's his wife."
However, that "mysteriousest thing" was not on the carpet just then. It
was the egg found in the automobile that was in question, and the
blacksmith's wife said:
"Yes, of course you shall have it. Them dratted hens lay everywhere. I
guess they'd lay in the parson's hat."
"Oo-oo! not if he had it on," murmured Dot.
Then immediately, there was another subject of discussion. What should
they do with the fresh-laid egg?
"Eat it, of course," said Sammy.
"It won't go far--one egg--among three such savage appetites as you kids
possess," Neale declared.
"Why--no," murmured Tess. "You couldn't very well divide an egg in three
parts."
"Not till it's cooked," Sammy put in, promptly. "Let's have it fried."
"Oh! I like eggs soft-boiled," Dot exclaimed.
"Why! then we can't divide it even after it's cooked," cried Tess; "for
I like my eggs hard-boiled."
"It can't be done, then," said Neale O'Neil, solemnly, but vastly
amused. "You can't first boil an egg hard, and then soft, and then fry
it."
"She--she ought to have laid three eggs," growled Sammy.
"You should speak to her about that," Neale returned. Then he added, as
a suggestion: "Why don't you cast lots for it?"
"Cast lots for _what_, Neale O'Neil!" demanded Dot, wonderingly.
"Is--isn't that _wicked_--like gambling?" asked Tess, slowly, "or playing
marbles for keeps?"
"No," Neale told her, "I don't believe it is. You can take three straws
of different lengths. I'll hold 'em. The one that draws the longest
straw takes the egg--and can have it cooked any way she or he pleases."
"But then the others won't get any," wailed Dot, whose appetite was
evidently sharpened by the morning air.
"Shucks!" said Neale, washing his hands of the matter. "Give it to Tom
Jonah, then. He'll eat it raw--shell and all."
"Oh, no," said Tess, with sudden inspiration. "We must give it to Mrs.
Heard for her breakfast. I'll ask the blacksmith's wife to cook it."
That suited everybody and Tess and Dot ran to make the proper culinary
arrangements for the wonderful egg laid on the automobile seat.
It was a very hilarious breakfast, indeed; and the older girls and Mrs.
Heard thought the "automobile egg" quite wonderful indeed. And such a
breakfast as it was--with eggs galore, and fried chicken, and hot bread,
and honey from "Mother's own combs."
When Dot heard that, she was puzzled a good deal at first, for all the
comb she had seen about the blacksmith's wife was a high-backed,
old-fashioned tortoise-shell comb that was prominent in the woman's
"bob" of hair. It had to be explained to the smallest Corner House girl
what "honey from the comb" meant. All of that succulent dainty Dot had
ever seen before had been strained honey.
The blacksmith's wife put up a hamper of lunch for the automobile
tourists, too, and when they drove away at nine o'clock the Corner House
girls and their companions felt as though they were bidding good-bye to
two old and valued friends. It did not seem possible that they had never
met the jolly blacksmith and his kindly wife before the previous
evening; and they promised to stop again, if only to call, on their
return journey.
"I'm sure we shall never forget the dears," Agnes sighed, some hours
later, when they had stopped for lunch. "Just _look_ at all this fried
chicken!"
"We won't forget 'Mother' while the grub holds out, that's sure,"
grinned Neale O'Neil.
"Horrid boy!" retorted Agnes. "We girls, I should hope, think of
something besides our stomachs."
"Hm--yes. But you weren't _talking_ about anything else," rejoined Neale.
The party had another subject of thought the next moment, however. Neale
was just setting up the tripod, and Sammy was scurrying about for dry
wood for the fire to be built under it, when a tall and roughly dressed
man broke through the brush into the open patch of turf on which the
party was preparing camp, and at once hailed them:
"Hey, you! what are ye doing here, I'd like to know?"
Neale took it upon himself to reply--and he did not feel very pleasant
about it. The man did not speak in a nice way.
"I don't know that it's any of your affair," the boy said quietly; "but
we are just preparing lunch."
"Oh, you _be?_" snarled the fellow. "Wal, by jinks! ye _ben't_ neither!
We don't want no ortermobile parties here. Get out!"
"Do you own this land?" asked Neale, his voice shaking.
"Never mind him. Come away--do!" cried Ruth to Neale, while she retreated
to the car, dragging the hamper with her.
"I hate to do that," said the boy, who was very angry. "I don't believe
he has any right to send us away. We're doing no harm."
"Ye air trespassin'," declared the man. "Going to build a fire, too, was
ye? That's against the law, anyway."
"To build a campfire?" demanded Neale, quickly. "I guess not. And you've
got to prove trespass."
"I'll prove it with the flat o' my hand on your ears, ye young rascal!"
declared the man, hotly. "You ain't paid anybody for the right to camp
here, have you?"
"_Paid_ anybody? Of course not. Who'd we pay?" demanded Neale, still
inclined to stand his ground.
"Shows ye don't know the law in _this_ town," said the man, with
satisfaction. "I'm a consterble--see?" and he threw back his coat and
showed a big, shiny star pinned to his "gallus." "I got the authority."
"You've got the authority to _what?_" asked Neale, sourly. "Trying to
tree us for a collection, are you? I--guess--not!"
"Oh, Neale," begged Ruth. "Do come away."
"The boy is right," said Mrs. Heard, vigorously. "I believe the man is
overstepping his rights. But we don't want to fight him here. Oh! what
is that child about?"
Sammy Pinkney had procured several smooth pebbles of about the size of
hen's eggs, and now approached the contending parties. Tom Jonah, too,
stood beside Neale and began to show his remaining fangs.
"What are you going to do with those stones, Sammy Pinkney?" demanded
Agnes.
"Goin' to give some of 'em to Neale if he wants 'em," declared the
youngster, with a grin.
Neale O'Neil laughed at that. "I guess we won't come to blows, Sammy,"
he said. "We'll just get in the car and have our lunch. This constable
can't keep us from eating on the county road, that is sure. Get out the
alcohol lamp, folks, if you want your tea."
They put up the board, and unlimbered the lamp and soon had the kettle
boiling; but the constable sat down near by and watched them--and with no
pleasant face--the while. Evidently, although they had obeyed his
command, he was not wholly satisfied.
It was while they were still eating their lunch that the sky became
overcast.
"It really looks as though we should have a tempest, and we ought to get
under cover," remarked Mrs. Heard.
"Oh, yes, do!" said Agnes, eagerly. "I dislike getting drenched."
They were some distance on the road to Tailtown, however, before the
first flash of lightning assured them that the storm was going to
overtake them before they could reach any haven.
Neale stopped immediately and put up the top and drew the curtains on
either side. He made Agnes get back into the tonneau, although that
crowded the others somewhat. But under the rubber blanket in front there
was scarcely room for Sammy, Neale, and Tom Jonah.
The rain began drumming on the top of the car before they started again.
They were in a locality where there seemed to be no farms. At least they
had not passed a barn within the hour that promised shelter for the car.
So it was better to go ahead and risk it, than to run back.