the direction of Glenside. "Sorry the horses haven't shoes, Betty, or
you might drive."

Betty shot him a suspicious glance. The three horses never were
shod, except when a certain amount of traveling had to be done on the
stone road. In all the weeks she had spent at Bramble Farm a horse
had never been offered for her convenience, and all of her trips to
town had been either afoot, or taken with Bob in the rattling,
shabby, one-horse work wagon.

"Where did you say Bob was going?" came next.

Betty bit her lip.

"I didn't say," she said evenly. "I--I don't think it's fair to ask
me."

"But you know," snapped Mr. Peabody. "I guess I have a right to know
where he's gone. I'm responsible for him. I've got papers that show
it. The poorhouse folks are going to ask me what becomes of him. You
just tell me where he went, and I'll satisfy 'em. I won't follow him
and try to bring him back, Betty. He's too old for that. Making his
bed, he'll have to lie on it. I won't follow him."

The girl twisted her handkerchief nervously. She was not afraid of
the man. That is, she feared no physical violence at his hands, but
he was capable, she knew, of forcing her back to the farm and locking
her up in her room till she furnished him with the required
information. And what harm could it do Bob? It was not likely that
Peabody could find the boy in a large city.