houghtful manner. "Cows are
such feminine things and so contrary. I don't know what I will do if I
lose any more. I--I may get discouraged."

"Have you had a doctor?" I asked, briskly and unfeelingly, though I did
take his big rough hand in my own and hold on to it with a sympathy that
was not in my voice.

"No, I've sorter doctored them by a book I have. The only good
veterinary doctor about here lives way over by Spring Hill, and it would
take him a day to drive over and back, besides costing me about ten
dollars. Still, I ought to get him. Buttercup is pretty sick," answered
Sam, and I could see that his broad shoulders under his well-cut blue
serge coat of last season seemed to sag with the weight of his animal
responsibilities.

"I can take my car over to Spring Hill in less than an hour, get the
doctor, and have you and the doctor out to those animals by ten. This
moon will last all night; and you go get the apple-float from mother
while I make Eph run out the car and jump into my corduroys. Come on,
quick!" And as I talked I opened the gate, drew him in, and started
leading him up the front walk by the sleeve of his coat.

"Not if I know myself, Betty, will I let you undertake such a red-cross
expedition as that. They'll have to wait. I came in to call on you and
whisper sweet nothings to you in the parlor while you tell me--"

"Eat the float in a hurry if you want it," I interrupted him, as I
deposited him beside mother, who was still sipping a last cup of coffee
with her jelly-cake, and went for my room and my motor clothes.

And it was one grand dash that Redwheels and I made out Providence Road
and over Paradise Ridge down to Spring Hill in less than thirty-five
minutes. In the moonlight the road was like a lovely silver ribbon that
we wound up on a spool under the machine, and a Southern spring breeze
seemed to be helping the gasoline to waft us on more rapidly in our
flight as it stung our faces with its coolness, which was scented with
the sap that was just beginning to rise against bark and bud in the
meadows and woods past which we sped.

"It will be great to die together, won't it, Betty?" said Sam once as
Redwheels ran a few yards on two wheels, then tried the opposite two
before it settled back to the prosaic though comfortable use of four as
we took a flying leap across a little creek ditch.

"We can't die sentimentally; we've got to get back to those suffering
cows," I answered him, firmly,