[Illustration: _"All aboard for Pond Lily Lake!" he called gaily._]
"I'll crank it up." So Limpy-toes pushed in the key and wound, and wound,
and wound. Then they started on again.
"Runs fine," said Grand-daddy.
"'Most takes my breath away," gasped Buster. "Say, Limpy-toes, why are we
stopping?"
"Run down again, I guess," sighed Limpy-toes.
"Must we stop every few minutes and wear our paws out cranking it up
forty-'leven times?" grumbled Grand-daddy.
Again they were off--and again they stopped. This time they were in the
middle of Mr. Giant's clover field.
"Sakes alive, Limpy-toes! Suppose I was on my way to see a sick mouse?
He'd die maybe, or else be all cured, before I could ever get there."
"Automobiles need lots of twistity," argued Buster. "Mr. Giant has to
twist his automobile. I heard Robert Giant say there was twistity in the
batteries."
"Why doesn't it go this time?" demanded Grand-daddy.
"The key must have bounced out when we struck that big stone near the ash
heap," said Limpy-toes. "I will trot back and find it."
"And I'll take my stout cane and my own strong legs and trot toward the
Lake, if you don't mind," decided Grand-daddy.
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