I was married, but Daniel and Sarah make the whole house look
like a hurrah's nest. And there's your great-grandmother's counterpane
on the bed, white as the driven snow, too. I wonder how many generations
that's going to wear. My, what a pretty view you've got from this
window. Ain't that Pilot Knob over yonder, just beyond that clump of
cedars? Yes, that must be old Pilot. I've heard my grandfather tell many
a time how his father camped at the foot of the knob, and sat up all
night to keep the bears and wolves away."

Mary was opening doors and drawers in a hasty but conscientious search.

"You'd better help me look for the chart, Sally," she said gently. "Two
pairs of eyes are better than one, and you know Dan's in a hurry." But
Sally did not move. Her eyes were fixed on the purple haze that hung
over old Pilot, and her mind was lost in memories of her grandfather's
legends.

"Dan's always in a hurry," she remarked placidly. "I tell him he gets
mighty little pleasure out of life, rushin' through it the way he does.
That white spot over on that tallest knob must be the stone quarry. If
it was a clear day, I believe you could see the big rocks. And here
comes a locomotive. How pretty the white smoke looks streamin' back and
settlin' in the valleys."

"We might as well go down," said Mary. "There's no use looking in the
spare room; that hasn't been opened for a week."

"Sally!" cried Dan, putting his head in at the front door and giving a
backward glance at his restless horse, "if that note I've got in the
bank is protested, you and your jacket'll be to blame. It's after two
o'clock, and I can't wait any longer."

"All right," said Sally, "me and the children will go to town with
you."

"Where are the children?" asked Mary.

"My gracious! have we lost the chart and the children, too?" laughed
Sally. "No, there they are, 'way down by the duck pond. Sarah! Daniel!
Come right here! We're goin' to town."

"Hurry up!" shouted their father, "or I'll leave you here."

The prospect of a trip to town and the fear of being left behind doubled
the children's speed and brought them breathless and excited to the
front gate. Dan tossed them into the wagon, as if each had been a sack
of meal, and Sally clambered in without assistance.

"As soon as I find the chart, Sally, I'll send it over to you by the
first person that passes," said Mary. The loss of the chart seemed a
breach of hospitality, a discourtesy to her guest,