“Stop it,” cried Mollie indignantly, while the others felt their mouths begin to water.  “The idea of mentioning steak—­ But here,” she broke off, seizing Grace’s hand and dragging her toward the woods, “come with me and pick berries if you value your life.  Lucky we brought those tin pails along.”

“But why,” protested Grace patiently, as she was dragged along, “should we want to pick berries?”

“To eat,” replied Mollie, attacking a bush that was fairly black with the luscious ripe fruit.  “And besides,” she added, lowering her voice to a confidential pitch, “Mrs. Irving said that if she could find some flour and baking powder in the lodge she would make us a steamed blackberry pudding for supper.”

Grace stared for a moment then, without another word, set to work on the loaded bush.

“You might have told me that before,” she grumbled, her mouth full of berries.  “You always did have a mean disposition, Mollie.”

To which Mollie’s only reply was a chuckle and a sly wink at Betty, who was working close at her side.

They worked on happily for a few minutes, then suddenly Amy straightened up and stood quiet as though she were listening to something.

The girls, whose nerves were still a little on edge from their recent adventure, demanded to know in no uncertain tones what was the matter with her.

“N-nothing,” Amy answered a little sheepishly.  “I thought I heard a little rustling among the leaves, that’s all.”

“Probably a breeze coming up,” said Betty matter-of-factly, and they went on with their berry picking.

But it was not long before a second disturbance came, and this time they all heard it.  It was, as Amy had said, a rustling sound.  However, it was louder this time, as though several heavy bodies were pushing through the underbrush on the other side of the road.

“Perhaps we had better go and see what is making all the noise,” said Mrs. Irving, her light tone successfully hiding an undercurrent of nervousness.  “I guess we have picked enough berries for our pudding, anyway.”

The girls picked up their pails and started for the road, Betty in the lead.  But when the latter reached the outer fringe of bushes she started back, almost treading on Mollie’s toes and causing her to drop her pail in alarm.

“It’s sheep!” cried the Little Captain.  “Dozens and dozens of them!  Come and look!”

CHAPTER XIII

 The enemy routed

Mrs. Irving pushed forward beside Betty, and the girls stared unbelievingly over her shoulder.  Then they saw that she was right.

While they had been picking berries in the woods a flock of sheep had wandered down to the road from the other direction and had completely surrounded their two cars.

The big-eyed, innocent looking animals were circling around and around the machines as if examining them with a sort of ovine interest and curiosity.