to the ditch! Reckon
all your passengers would have got a good jolt. I stopped so's we could
finish dressing. Cherry, where is your other shoe? You have run all the
way down the road with only one on. Just look at your stockings!"

"Where's yours? You haven't any stockings at all," retorted the first
voice, still sharp with indignation.

"In my pocket. I was afraid Gail would hear as 'fore we got gone. There,
Allee, your dress is done. Fasten up your shoes while I put on my
stockings. We'll have to hurry like mischief, 'cause I don't think Gail
will go back to sleep again."

There was a subdued rustling for a moment or two beyond the dense hedge,
and then the listening man heard the sound of hurrying footsteps in the
road, and the children vanished without his having caught a glimpse of
them. But he was now thoroughly awake, and as soon as the steps died
away in the distance, he rose from his bed among the leaves, shook out
his gray blankets, rolled and strapped them into a bundle, threw them
under the overhanging shrubbery, and slowly made way through the trees
to a wide, sparkling creek, whose tumbling waters made sweet music in
the woods.

"What a glorious scene this is," he murmured aloud, gazing in rapt
admiration at the wooded hills, the singing stream, the bright flowers.
"Why can't we be content to live in such places instead of building
great, smoky, sooty cities? You little creek, you sang me to sleep last
night. Wish I could take you back home with me. What a pretty flower!
Little bird, you will split your throat if you try to pour out all your
melody at once. Better give us a little at a time. Of course you are
happy! Who wouldn't be on such a wonderful day? Oh, what sentiments for
a tramp! Campbell, have you forgotten what you are?"

He was near the road now, and suddenly a baby voice piped shrilly, "Yes,
here is the bridge and there is the sun. Oh, just look at the sun! It's
way up high now. Ain't it big and fiery?"

"S'posing it was a frying-pan," spoke up a second voice, which the
startled tramp recognized as belonging to Peace; "and we could have all
the buckwheat cakes it would cook. My! wouldn't that be nice?"

They came slowly into view through the shrubbery,--three queer, dripping
little figures, with hair flying, dresses wet and rumpled, shoes soaked
and muddy, but literally loaded down with masses of late columbine and
sweet wood violets. And they made a pretty picture with their bright,
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