train. There was none of
the various noises of New York. Even the horses seemed ready to go
to sleep as they stood lazily at the shafts or poles of the vehicles
they drew.

"Come on!" cried Sandy, hospitably. "It's quite a little drive out to
our farm, and I know your folks must be tired and hungry."

"Hungry! That's no name for it!" voiced Miss Dixon. "Have you any
lobsters, Mr. Apgar?"

"Lobsters? No'm. They don't raise none of them birds out here. But we
got chicken."

"Oh, listen to him, Pearl!" exclaimed Miss Dixon. "He thinks a
lobster is a bird."

"Don't mind them," said Paul Ardite to Sandy, in a low voice. "It
hasn't been many years that they could afford lobster. Chicken for
mine, every time."

"Well, they do say ma cooks th' best chicken around here," spoke
Sandy, proudly. "She done it in Southern style this time."

"Say no more!" exclaimed Mr. DeVere. "Sandy, you are a gentleman and
a scholar. How long will it take us to get to your farm?"

"About half an hour."

"That's twenty-nine minutes too long, since you have mentioned
chicken in Southern style. But do your best."

Seated in the comfortable carryall, the members of the moving
picture company began their trip to Oak Farm. The way lay along a
pleasant country road, and in the distance could be seen the cool,
green hills.

It was early June, and, all about, the farmers were doing their work.
The air was sweet with the scent of flowers and the green woods, for
the road led past several forest patches where the wind swept
pleasantly through the swaying trees.

"Oh, it is just lovely here!" sighed Ruth, as she removed her hat and
let the gentle wind blow about her hair. "I know I shall love it.
And, Daddy dear, maybe it will do your voice good."

"Perhaps it will, daughter," he agreed. "However, since we are doing
so well in moving pictures, I have not the desire I had at first to
get back to the boards. I am becoming content in this line."

"I'm glad," said Alice, "for I like it very much. Oh, it is lovely
here, Ruth!"

"Just fine, I call it!" exclaimed Russ. "The air is so clear. I'm
sure we'll get fine pictures here."

"I know we'll die of loneliness," grumbled Miss Pennington. "I wish
we hadn't come, Laura."

"So do I, but there's no help for it now," replied Miss Dixon.

Rumbling behind the carryall was the farm wagon containing the
trunks, and in less than the half-hour stipulated by Sandy, Oak Farm
was reached. Ruth, Alice a