On the way home Frances was rather quiet. The next morning she announced that she intended going to Wrayton that afternoon. “Johnson will drive me over,” she said. “I shall be glad if Auntie will go with me.” Wrayton was the county-seat, a good-sized town five miles from Mayberry. Hephzy declined the invitation. She had promised to “tea” with Mrs. Griggson that afternoon. “Then I must go alone,” said Frances. “That is unless--er--Uncle Hosea cares to go.” “Uncle Hosea” declined. The name of itself was sufficient to make him decline; besides Worcester and I were scheduled for golf. “I shall go alone then,” said “my niece,” with decision. “Johnson will look after me.” But after luncheon, when I visited the stable to order Johnson to harness “Pet,” I met with an unexpected difficulty. Johnson, it appeared, was ill, had been indisposed the day before and was now at home in bed. I hesitated. If this were Bayport I should have bade the gardener harness “Pet” or have harnessed him myself. But this was Mayberry, not Bayport. The gardener, deprived of his assistant's help--Johnson worked about the garden when not driving--was not in good humor. I decided not to ask him to harness, but to risk a fall in the estimation of the servants by doing it myself. The gardener watched me for a moment in shocked disapproval. Then he interfered. “If you please, Mr. Knowles, sir,” he said, “I'll 'arness, but I can't drive, sir. I am netting the gooseberries. Perhaps you might get a man from the Inn stables, unless you or the young lady might wish to drive yourselves.” I did not wish to drive, having the golf engagement; but when I walked to the Inn I found no driver available. So, rather than be disagreeable, I sent word to the curate that our match was postponed, and accepted the alternative. Frances, rather to my surprise, seemed more pleased than otherwise to find that I was to be her coachman. Instead of occupying the rear seat she climbed to that beside me. “Good-by, Auntie,” she called to Hephzy, who was standing in the doorway. “Sorry you're not going. I'll take good care of Mr. Knowles--Uncle Hosea, I mean. I'll see that he behaves himself and,” with a glance at my, I fear, not too radiant visage, “doesn't break any of his venerable bones.” The road, like all English roads which I traveled, was as firm and smooth as a table, the day was fine, the hedges were green and fragrant, the larks sang, and the flocks of sheep in the wayside pastures were picturesque as always. “Pet,” who had led an easy life since we came to the rectory, was in high spirits and stepped along in lively fashion. My companion, too, was in good spirits and chatted and laughed as she had not done with me since I knew her.