“Why, certainly;” and in spite of his bandaged eye, Fritz saw his way clearly enough to jump over the wheel into the carriage.
“Drive along to the Point, Thomas, we have time for that,” and Brenda glanced at her little chatelain watch. “We need not be home until half-past six.”
“Oh, excuse me,” cried Amy; “I have to be home by half-past five; I really ought to be.”
“Well, if we were to drive directly there you’d hardly be there by that time. Could n’t you just take a little drive?”
“I wish that I could,” said Amy; “but really I have—have things to do.”
“Oh, well, of course if you must go home you must,” responded Brenda, and she reluctantly gave Thomas the order to drive up the hill to the back road.
“I could just as well walk home,” said Amy, as the carriage turned about; “then you and Fritz could drive.”
“Oh, no, indeed,” exclaimed Fritz, “I would n’t think of driving without you; but it’s fine to have this much of a drive, and I’m thankful not to be obliged to walk home. I’m not as fond of exercise in hot weather as Amy is.”
At last they drove up in front of the little house which Brenda remembered so well.
“Stop here,” she called to Thomas, who apparently thought that Brenda had meant some other house than this as her destination.
