to go in a queer contrivance attached to the motor bus, a "trailer," the driver called it.
"Isn't that nice?" beamed Bobby, when he heard of this arrangement. "Our trunks will get there the same time we do."
The children watched this trailer being loaded, and then all climbed into the bus and began the journey to Four Crossways. There were so many people on their way there that Bobby and Twaddles had to be squeezed into the front seat between the driver and the man who took the fares, and they liked this immensely.
"We're going to Brookside," volunteered Twaddles, who was sociably inclined, as soon as the driver seemed to have his engine fixed to suit him and the car was purring up the straight, wide road.
"To see Aunt Polly," chimed in Bobby.
"There's a lot of you, isn't there?" said the driver, smiling.
When both boys said they had never been on a real farm, the driver, whose name, he told them, was Gus Rede, had so much to say about
