“Fine,” said Hepburn and Billy in the same breath, and Cherry blushed rose red. “Couldn’t get buggies, but I think you’ll all be pleased at the conveyance,” said I. “It’ll be quite a ride. Three hours there and three hours back.” “Goodness,” said Cherry; “I thought it was only about seven miles away.” “It might be 200 miles away if we took a special,” said Sibthorp suggestively. “And only a few rods if we took snails,” said Tom and laughed uproariously. “It’s something between snails and specials,” said I, but further than that I was sphynxlike. Next morning was a crisp, smoke scented October morning, the air full of the snap of early fall, the landscape hinting at coming crimsons and yellows, the sky a clear blue, guiltless of clouds. We rose early and while we were at breakfast we heard the lowing of cattle. “Whose cow’s loose this morning?” asked Tom. “That’s the voice of our steeds, if I’m not mistaken. Get your wraps and traps and come.” Scowls of surprise were bent on me by all. “Behold the chariot of Apollo and the horses thereof,” said I, and led the way to the front door, whither I was followed by all. In front of the house stood a comfortable-looking hay wagon carpeted with straw and hitched to it were twelve oxen. They were of all sorts and sizes, from a pair of huge white blanketed ones to two little black Holstein leaders; they were mottled, brown, mahogany and fawn color and the black Holsteins had gold leafed horns in honor of the occasion. At the side of this “string” stood Sam Goodman and his son. “Are we going in that?” “That we are going in,” said I proudly. “If we have luck we’ll get there inside of three hours. How far is it, Mr. Goodman?” “Between six an’ seven miles. What d’yer think of the string? Prize winners?” “They ought to be.” “What does he do with so many cows?” said Cherry. “Where—_where_ did you come from, baby dear?” said Tom. “Those are called oxen in this part of the country. Not all yours are they?” turning to Sam. “No, sir. Mine are the white blankets. But all Egerton cattle and we’ve taken fust prize for four years hand runnin’! Whoapp, Jerry! Whenever you’re ready I’m ready, Mr. Vernon.” Which was local for “Please hurry up,” so I told our party to get aboard as soon as possible and we would start for the cattle show.