“Miss Florence’s canary bird died,” he explained to Father Blossom.  “And it makes her cry to see the cage; so she gave it to me.  I think it is very nice and you never can tell when it will be useful!”

It was over seventy miles to Apple Tree Island from Oak Hill, quite too long a trip for the children to make without a break.  This was partly the reason Father Blossom planned to stop at Brookside Farm.  The real reason, of course, was Aunt Polly.

“When do we go on the boat?” asked Dot, soon after they had left Oak Hill and were running smoothly along the State highway which the interurban trolley line followed for some distance.  Dot remembered the trip on the boat to Aunt Polly’s, and she had reason to, as you will recall if you have read of that memorable visit.

“We don’t go on the boat,” answered Mother Blossom.  “We go as far as Little Havre, at the lower end of Lake Tobago, where we took the boat, and then we branch off and follow the lake shore road that brings us straight to Brookside Farm and Aunt Polly.”

“I dropped my cage,” announced Twaddles conversationally.

Of course there was nothing to do but stop the car and let him get out and run back for it.  Father Blossom was a skillful driver now and there was no danger that the steering wheel would play him strange tricks.

Presently it was lunch time, and as Father and Mother Blossom had foreseen that traveling in the balmy Spring air and sunshine might sharpen appetites, they had arranged to have a picnic under the largest and shadiest tree that could be found.  How glad the four little Blossoms were to get out of the car and run about on the grass, and how good Norah’s sandwiches did taste!  There was milk for the children, and coffee for Father and Mother, and after the meal was finished, Father Blossom showed the children how to bury the papers and waste so that the pretty meadow spot might not be spoiled for the next picnic party.

“Where are we going to have supper?” speculated Dot, as she snuggled into the car beside Mother Blossom.  Dot was a great girl to consider the future.

“Can’t you guess?” teased Mother Blossom.

“I know!” cried Meg.  “Aunt Polly’s.”

Dot and Twaddles enjoyed a little nap that sunny afternoon, but Meg and Bobby were wide awake every instant.  When they came to Little Havre the twins awoke and sat up, a bit heavy-eyed, but inclined to be resentful that they had missed anything at all.

“There’s the wharf!” shouted Twaddles. “’Member the organ-grinder man, Dot?  And there’s the restaurant where you spilled the milk on your dress.”

“I want to get a few directions,” said Father Blossom, running the car close to the curb under a drooping willow tree.  “Don’t get out, any one, for I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared into the real-estate office on the corner, and the four little Blossoms amused themselves by watching the people hurrying down to make the afternoon boat.