stopping?"

"Run down again, I guess," sighed Limpy-toes.

"Must we stop every few minutes and wear our paws out cranking it up
forty-'leven times?" grumbled Grand-daddy.

Again they were off--and again they stopped. This time they were in the
middle of Mr. Giant's clover field.

"Sakes alive, Limpy-toes! Suppose I was on my way to see a sick mouse?
He'd die maybe, or else be all cured, before I could ever get there."

"Automobiles need lots of twistity," argued Buster. "Mr. Giant has to
twist his automobile. I heard Robert Giant say there was twistity in the
batteries."

"Why doesn't it go this time?" demanded Grand-daddy.

"The key must have bounced out when we struck that big stone near the ash
heap," said Limpy-toes. "I will trot back and find it."

"And I'll take my stout cane and my own strong legs and trot toward the
Lake, if you don't mind," decided Grand-daddy. "You and Buster can finish
your pleasure trip a little at a time, but I have business to look after
and a house to hire before the rest of the family catch up with us."

He started off at a brisk pace. Buster sat on the front seat and nibbled
ginger cookies, while Limpy-toes limped back to find the lost key.