Johnnie and Chips followed slowly.  “Father,” said the former emphatically, “I can’t be happy without being wrecked, and I do hope mother won’t object.”

His father made no reply to this, and three quarters of an hour afterward the children jumped out of the buggy into their mothers’ arms, and as they still clung to their lunch, the ham and the hen came in for a share of the embracing, which the hen objected to seriously, never having been hugged before this eventful day.

“Never mind, mother,” said Johnnie patronizingly, “father’ll tell you all about it while I go and put Speckle in a safe place.”  So the boys went, and Mr. Ford seated himself in an armchair, and related the events of the afternoon to the ladies, adding some advice as to the manner of making the boys see the folly of their undertaking.

Mrs. Wood and Chips took tea at the Fords’ that evening, and the boys, once delivered from the necessity of keeping their secret, rattled on incessantly of their plans; talked so much and so fast, in fact, that their parents were not obliged to say anything, which was a great convenience, as they had nothing they wished to say just then.  It had been a mild first of April, and after supper the little company sat out on the piazza for a time.

“As Johnnie and Chips will be obliged to spend so many nights out of doors on their way to Lake Michigan, it will be an excellent plan to begin immediately,” said Mr. Ford.  “You’ll like to spend the night out here, of course, boys.  To be sure, it will be a good deal more comfortable than the road, still you can judge by it how such a life will suit you.”

Johnnie looked at Chips and Chips looked at Johnnie; for the exertions of the day had served to make the thought of their white beds very inviting; but Mr. Ford and the ladies talked on different subjects, and took no notice of them.  At last the evening air grew uncomfortably cool, and the grown people rose to go in.

“Good-night, all,” said Mrs. Wood, starting for home.

Chips watched her down to the gate.  “Aren’t you going to kiss me good-night?” he called.

“Of course, if you want me to,” she answered, turning back, “but you went away this morning without kissing me, you know.”  Then she kissed him and went away; and in all his eight years of life little Man Friday had never felt so forlorn.  Johnnie held up his lips sturdily to bid his father and mother good-night.

“I think we are going to have a thunder-storm, unseasonable as it will be,” remarked Mr. Ford pleasantly, standing in the doorway.  “Well, I suppose you won’t mind it.  Good luck to you, boys!” then the heavy front door closed.

Johnnie had never before realized what a clang it made when it was shut.  The key turned with a squeaking noise, a bolt was pushed with a solid thud; all the windows came banging down, their locks were made fast, and Johnnie and Chips felt literally, figuratively, and every other way left out in the cold.