either did I. And there won't be pretty quick, I guess, for it looked
and sounded as if it would fall to pieces before it got to--to wherever
it's going. Bet you anything that was the deacon's one-horse chaise in
the poem!"

"_Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay
That was built in such a logical way
It ran a hundred years to a day?_"

quoted Han. "Wouldn't that look funny alongside a Rolls-Royce, Perry?"

"It would look funny alongside a flivver," answered the other. "Say, how
far do we have to walk? Seems to me we've done about five miles
already."

"Rot! We haven't walked more than a mile. Not being able to see things
makes it seem farther, I guess." The encouraging sound of a cow mooing
reached them the next minute. "That must be the one we heard yesterday,"
said Han. "I suppose there's just one on the island and it's set to go
off at the same time every day."

"If there's a cow over there," said Perry, staring into the fog, "maybe
there's a farmhouse. Let's have a look."

"All right, but we're just as likely to walk into a swamp as find a
house."

But a very few steps off the highway put them on a narrow lane and
presently the big bulk of a barn loomed ahead. The house was soon
located and ten minutes later, having purchased two quarts of milk and
four dozen eggs, they retraced their steps. The fog had now apparently
changed its mind about lifting, for the yellow tinge had gone and the
world was once more grey and chill. They donned their coats again and,
carrying their precious burdens, trudged on. Occasionally a puff of air
came off the sound and the fog blew in trailing wreaths before them.
When they had walked what they considered to be the proper distance they
began to watch for that lane. And after they had watched for it for a
full quarter of an hour and had walked a deal farther than they should
have they reached the entirely justifiable conclusion that they were
lost!

Perry set down the battered milk can on which they had paid a deposit of
twenty-five cents, took a long breath and, viewing the encompassing fog,
exclaimed melodramatically: "Lost on Martha's Vineyard, or The Mystery
of the Four Dozen Eggs!"

"Well, we won't starve for awhile," laughed Han. "Say, where _is_ that
lane we came up, anyway? Think we've passed it?"

"About ten miles back," sighed Perry. "Come on and let's try dead
reckoning. The beach is over there somewhere and if we can find it--"

"Great! But when