were still in the roadway. The farmer
had patched up his damaged rig, but would not listen to the girls'
appeals to give them a lift toward town. He insisted it was all their
fault for laughing and scaring the horses, and he vowed vengeance on
the man who really had saved the team from positive destruction in the
river.

The strange young man, after considerable gusto, all of which was
wasted on the farmer, but hugely enjoyed by Tavia at least, had made
his way off, leaving the girls discreetly to their woes. No one was
actually injured, although, as Nita said, costumes had suffered
severely.

"Wasn't he queer?" remarked Cologne, as she shook small bundles of hay
from her Glenwood cap and blouse. "I thought I would laugh outright
when he mounted the old horse a second time. He looked like somebody
on a variety stage."

"Yes," added Tavia, "and Dorothy had to spoil the show by inducing him
to give up the act. What if the farmer did ply the whip? That would
only heighten the effect."

"Since we have to walk," Nita reminded the others, "it might be
advisable to start."

"Great head," commented Tavia, "but do you realize that we shall be
locked out? That the ogresses of 'Glen' will be ready--axe in hand,
block in evidence, grin prominent----"

"Tavia!" exclaimed Dorothy, "do gather yourself up! That bundle of hay
seems enchanted. As Nita says, we must be going."

Tavia almost lolled over on the soft hay, then she gathered it up with
conspicuous tenderness, pressed it fondly to her heart, and agreed to
start on. Each of the other girls was taking with her, back to the
school, a similar souvenir; but Cologne and Dorothy threw theirs over
their shoulder, in true rustic fashion, while Nita complained that she
was not able to carry hers; though she did manage to bribe Tavia with
a promised return of the chocolates to tie hers in with the extra
sized bundle that Tavia was lugging along.

"Five miles of this will just about do me," declared Cologne. "I think
it would have been infinitely better for us to have hitched on to the
hay wagon, in spite of the old farmer."

"And to think that we paid him in advance! It's a wonder we have never
had a single lesson in financial economy at gloomy Glenwood. 'How to
cheat farmers; or, how to die game in a hayrick!' I must suggest the
text to Mrs. Pangborn, our honored principal," declared Edna, as she,
too, made her way along under the uncertain weight of a bundle of hay.

"But