No one answers her. The boughs wave softly overhead; the small cloud of dust their efforts have raised floats slowly away and settles on the scant herbage underneath the pines. Near at hand sounds the shriek of the "up" train. They are not far from the railroad. "Shall we give it up and take to the train?" Starrett asks, as they catch the sound of the locomotive. "Dear me, we mustn't do that!" exclaims Charley. "Let's dismount and push the machines a little way. Perhaps the wheeling is better just ahead." But it is not. The ruts are strewn with straw, shavings, and chips; everything indicates that the woods are extensive, and that others before them have found the sand a tribulation. "Oh, this is the worst of all!" groans Corny. "But we'll not give up, nevertheless," declares little Arno Cummings, developing unexpected grit in the emergency. "I shouldn't like to tell them at Curtin Harbor that we had to take to the cars to get around a difficulty." Joe mops the perspiration from his dusky brow, and then stops to listen. A creak, a rumble, and a tramp, tramp are heard behind them. "Dar's sumfin a-comin!" says Joe. The "sumfin" soon appears in sight,--a big, empty, four-horse wagon, making its unwieldy way in their direction. The same idea occurs to everybody at once. "There! He'll carry us!" [Illustration: WITH JOE IN ADVANCE, THE CLUB RIDES THROUGH WAREHAM.] Carry them! Of course he will--for a consideration. And almost before the driver has recovered from his evident astonishment at this vision of six tricycles in the heart of the Sandwich woods, the riders and their machines are safely in the big cart, and on their way through the sandy tract, which, they now learn, is several miles in extent. It is impossible for the horses to go faster than a walk for the whole distance. The sand is a constant clog, and scarcely a breath of air can penetrate the close piny ranks on either side the narrow road. It is a slow and somewhat crowded ride, but the club tells stories, sings and jokes and answers the curious inquiries of their teamster, to whom a tricycle is a thing unknown till now. But in due time, the young folk have bidden him good day, and are speeding on toward Barnstable. The air grows salty, strong, and bracing. "It's like a breath of new life," says Starrett; and soon they are rolling between the long row of grand old trees that line Barnstable's quiet main street. At the hotel they stop for dinner and a noonday rest.