I heard a rattle of wheels. Bert Dalton was going to the village. I would go down with him and ride back with Ethel. She had probably hired the Stevens’ horse. I hurried out and hailed Bert, and he stopped. “Going to the village?” “Yes, sir, want anything got?” I explained the situation, and joined him, and we were soon out of sight of the house. I looked at my watch. If we hurried I could yet get to the station before the train for New York came in. I told Bert so, and he quickened the horse’s pace. About half a mile on our way I heard some one calling for help. Bert heard the call, too, and just as I was going to say “stop,” he stopped of his own accord. We both jumped out. The noise came from a field on our right, mostly given over to blueberry bushes, but with a little timber on its farther edge. “Help! Murder!” It was a high-keyed woman’s voice. “Tramps,” said Bert, as we hurried on. “Hysterics,” said I, for I was sure I heard laughter alternating with the screams. And the laughter had a strangely familiar sound. On we ran, the screams continuing, and at last the sounds were located, that is, the screams were. They came from a low growing chestnut. Perched in its branches sat Minerva, her face the image of horror, and below on a fallen trunk sat Ethel, laughing, with the tears rolling down her cheeks. By her side were two tin pails, nearly full of blueberries. “Minerva, stop that screaming. I tell you she won’t hurt you,” said Ethel, and then went off into another fit of laughter, and Minerva yelled blue murder again. Neither had seen us. “Come up here, Mis. Vernon. He’ll kill you, shu’s you’ bawn.” “She’s gone away. You’ve frightened her. Come down.” “Oh, Lawdy! Lawdy! _Lawdy!_ Why’d I come? He’ll shu’ly kill us.” When we saw that the danger was imaginary, I signalled to Bert, and we both stepped out of sight of Minerva and Mrs. Vernon, in order to see the comedy. Ethel’s perfect calmness and her amusement, but slightly tinged with sympathy, formed such a striking contrast to Minerva’s abject fear. Who was this he-she that was threatening Minerva’s existence? There was a rustling in the bushes, Minerva’s screams redoubled, and in spite of her 180 pounds she climbed still higher into the tree. And then the cause of all the commotion showed “himself.” A mild-looking Jersey cow, all unconscious of the agony she was causing, came into view and advanced toward Ethel, sniffing.