"We don’t need the blue book to tell us to get out," said Henrietta, a bit tartly. She looked at the dainty pile of sandwiches, the cold chicken, cakes and olives on the table with the wooden plates and gay paper napkins she had arranged for the coming feast and hesitated. She wished some one was courageous enough to suggest that they eat before they leave. "Certainly not," said the general. "But if we had consulted them before we left—" "Sort of in the fashion of an oracle," sneered Henrietta as she began slowly to gather up the napkins and the wooden plates. "Tell me," said Bartlett calmly, impersonally, not as one desiring an argument, but simply as a humble seeker after knowledge, with no prior views on the subject, "tell me, can you never make a mistake if you have a blue book?" "No," said Henrietta, "never. With the blue book one could go directly to Heaven. It would be impossible not to." Billy laughed. "Billy would laugh at her funeral," said Bartlett coldly. "We haven’t anything to cry about," said the Watermelon, frankly unconcerned. "It’s for the man who owns the house to do the crying." "How did we get here?" demanded the general, as Alphonse went to get the blue book, for the general could no longer be gainsaid in his desire for his book. "Is this where the Higgins’ home should be?" "Why, no, father," said Henrietta, "or it would be here." "I meant, Henrietta, did we come the right way? If we took every turn and have come far enough and not too far, this should be the Higgins’ house." "It should be," admitted Bartlett. "But it isn’t." Through the open door came the many noises of the summer night, the incessant hum of insects, the plaintive cry of the whippoorwill, the strident chorus of the frogs in the pond back of the bam. A moth, fluttering around the dingy lamp, fell on the table with scorched wings and Billy tenderly pushed it on a plate and carried it to the door. "Why not eat here?" suggested the Watermelon, unimpressed by the aspect of the affair as it struck the others. "We can hunt for the Higginses afterward. They ought to be around somewhere unless we’re helplessly lost." Henrietta smiled and took out the napkins she had laid back in the basket. "It won’t take us long," she agreed. "We don’t need to have any tea." "No," protested Bartlett, glancing at the door and listening for the crunch of wheels on the gravel without, "no, we must leave at once. We aren’t lost. The Higginses’ is probably the next house." "Suppose it isn’t," said Billy. "Just so," said the general. "We will return to the village and put up at the hotel. It isn’t late." "It’s half-past eleven," said Henrietta, glancing at her watch. Alphonse returned, blasé, indifferent. "There are no books," said he, devoid of all interest in the affair. "No books?" cried the general. "Alphonse, what has become of them? Did you take them out of the car before we left?"