We must be very nearly there by this
time. Goodness, I hope there will be something to eat around Wild Rose
Lodge. I'm getting famished."
"Mollie's Uncle John said he would attend to that-- stocking the cabin
with good things, I mean," said Betty, herself suddenly conscious of a
disturbingly hungry feeling. "He said we would find enough canned
things to last us at least a week."
"Canned things, yes," pouted Grace. "But who in the world wants to
live on canned things? I don't see why we didn't bring a chicken
along, at least."
"Well, maybe we can manage to run over one," chuckled Betty, as they
passed 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
screwing 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.
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