as I whirled into Spring Hill and stopped
Redwheels, panting and hot, in front of the dry-goods, feed, and drug
store. There I knew we could find out anything we wanted to know about
the whereabouts or profession of any of the fifteen hundred inhabitants
of the little old hamlet which has nestled under the hills for a hundred
years or more. "Ask where the cow physician lives. Quick!"

And at my urge Sam sprang out and across the old, uneven brick pavement
that lay between us and the store door. Then in less than two minutes he
appeared with a round, red-faced, white-headed old man who wheezed
chuckles as he talked.

His fear of the car was only equaled by his fascination at the idea of
the long ride in it, which would be the first motor-driven sortie he had
ever made out into life.

"Air ye sure, little missie, that you can drive the contraption so as
not to run away with us? Old folks is tetchy, like a basket of pullet
eggs," he said, as Sam seated him in the back seat and sprang to my
side.

"I wish I had a rope to tie him in," he muttered, as he sank into his
seat. "If you run as you did coming, we'll sure lose him. He'll bounce
like a butter-ball."

"I'm not taking any risks," I answered, and it was with greatest
mildness that we sauntered up Paradise Ridge and started down the other
side. And as I drove along carefully my mind began to work out into the
byways of the situation. I don't see how my athletic and executive
generation is going to do its appointed work in its day if we are going
to go on using the same set of social conventions that tied up our
mothers. As we neared the cross-road that turned off to Sam's
brier-patch I began to wonder how long it would take me to rush back
into Hayesboro, bundle mother into Redwheels, and get back to the cows.
It was just a quarter after nine o'clock, but I knew she would be sleepy
and would have to be forced to come with me very gently and slowly.
Still, I didn't see how I could go on out into the woods with only Sam
and the Butterball which was wheezing out cow conversation to Sam that I
was intensely interested in and ought to have been listening to rather
than wasting force on foolish proprieties. I was about to turn and take
Sam's advice on the matter when he suddenly laid his fingers on my arm
and said:

"Stop a minute, Betty. What's that roosting on that stone wall?" And as
he spoke he peered out toward a strange, huge bird sitting by the side
of the road