We had started away up the South road when, to my surprise, Aunt Deel
mildly attacked the Dunkelbergs.

"These here village folks like to be waited on--ayes!--an' they're awful
anxious you should come to see 'em when ye can't--ayes!--but when ye git
to the village they ain't nigh so anxious--no they ain't!"

Uncle Peabody made no answer, but sat looking forward thoughtfully and
tapping the dashboard with his whipstock, and we rode on in a silence
broken only by the creak of the evener and the sound of the horses'
hoofs in the sand.

In the middle of the great cedar swamp near Little River Aunt Deel got
out the lunch basket and I sat down on the buggy bottom between their
legs and leaning against the dash. So disposed we ate our luncheon of
fried cakes and bread and butter and maple sugar and cheese. The road
was a straight alley through the evergreen forest, and its grateful
shadow covered us. When we had come out into the hot sunlight by the
Hale farm both my aunt and uncle complained of headache. What an
efficient cure for good health were the doughnuts and cheese and sugar,
especially if they were mixed with the idleness of a Sunday. I had a
headache also and soon fell asleep.

The sun was low when they awoke me in our dooryard.

"Hope it'll be some time 'fore ye feel the need of another sermon," said
Uncle Peabody as Aunt Deel got out of the buggy. "I ain't felt so wicked
in years."