They were in the hollow at the foot of the last long hill, that from which the blacksmith shop had first been sighted.
"I know what I'll do," declared the passenger.

"I'll hunt for that missin' husband advertisement of Desire Higgins's.

Let's see now! 'Twill be down at the bottom of the pile, 'cause the paper it's in is a last year one." She bobbed down behind the high dashboard.

Mr.Bangs stood up in order that her gymnastics might interfere, to a lesser degree, with his driving.

The equipage began to move up the slope of the hill, bouncing and twisting in the frozen ruts.
"Here 'tis!" exclaimed Debby.