“Well, I’ve never been there, but when we get to Pelton I rather guess we can find the inn!  Come on, Mops, if you’re rested, we’d better get a move on!”

Then they trudged on together, finding the way very pleasant, and many things to interest them as they passed along.

The road was a public highway, and there were many motor cars and much other traffic.

But as the children kept on a grassy path by the side of the road they were in no danger, and there was no possibility of losing their way.

“It’s just a matter of keeping at it,” said King, “but it does seem longer than I thought.  We’re not halfway yet.”

“How do you know?”

“’Cause Pomp said when we came to the sign-board pointing to Mossville we’d be halfway, and we haven’t come to that yet.”

“What makes you call him Pomp?”

“Oh, just for short; and besides he’s kind of pompous, you know,—­sort of stuffy and English.”

“Yes, he is.  I like him, though, and I think he’s going to like us, but he doesn’t understand us yet.  I hope Father will ask that lame girl to lunch with us.  I think she looked hungry.”

“She looked awful poor, and I s’pose poor folks are always hungry.  It must be awful to be always hungry, Mops!”

“Well, I’m ’most always hungry myself.”

“Oh, that isn’t real hunger; that’s just wanting something to eat.  Hello, here’s the Mossville sign now!  See it?”

“Yes; so now we must be halfway.  I’m not tired, are you?”

“No, not a bit.  I’d like a drink of water, though.  Perhaps we’ll come to a brook.”

But they walked on considerably further without seeing any brook, or even a farmhouse where they might stop for a drink of water.  But when they were about half a mile from Pelton, King saw a little bridge off toward the right, and exclaimed, “That bridge must be over water of some sort.  If you want to, Midget, we can go over and see if it’s clean enough to drink.”

“Come on, then; it won’t take long, and I’m ’most choked to death.”

They walked across an intervening field, and came to the little bridge which did cross a small but clear and sparkling brook.

“What can we drink out of?” asked Midget.

“Have to drink out of our hands, I guess; wish we had a cup or something.  Oh, look at that man!”

Midget looked in the direction King pointed, and saw a man seated on the ground, busily working at something which seemed to be made of long rushes of reeds.

“He’s making a basket,” cried King, greatly interested.  “Let’s go and look at him.”

They trotted over to the man, and King said, politely, “Is that a basket you’re making, sir?”

“Yes,” came the answer in a gruff voice, and when the man looked up at them, they saw he was a strange-looking person indeed.  His complexion was dark, his coarse black hair rather long, and his black eyes had a shrewd expression, but were without kindliness.  “What do you want?” he said, still in his gruff voice.