I was conscious of figures mysteriously scurrying back and forth to the house. My eyes began to focus better and I could see standing a man who led me to the back of a hay wagon, as if to introduce me to the scheme devised for my escape. He took my hand that I might feel him unlatch a little door, then he pushed my arm through the opening, indicating to me the empty space inside. He guided my hand to the bottom, to the bedding of hay and the blanket, then the arched roof to feel the hoops laid closely above. He directed my fingers to the cloth between the hoops, trying to let me know a covering had been thrown over to keep the hay from falling through. He made me touch the sides of the wagon and the arched top covered with hay. My hiding place was to be this coop, camouflaged as a load of hay. The ingenious plan revealed once more the risk these people were taking. I stood hesitating between fear and appreciation, when suddenly I found myself being lifted feet first through the tiny door. He handed me a bottle of water and without a word hooked the little door. Locked up in my little cage, I listened. Footsteps. It seemed there were many. I was anxious to catch every sound. I could hear nothing. The wagon bent forward as under a heavy weight. A stronger lurch and we were in motion. Now I felt like a little calf being taken to the market. Yet I had reason to trust these people. Their careful preparation, their discreet silence could be only for my safety. I could not understand them, but I could not mistake their kindness. Perhaps someone would meet me at our destination. The serious, elaborate precautions indicated we were in great danger. This first part of the journey was no doubt the most critical. Through the rear of the wagon I could see a light. It was the sun coming up.