The grown people were calling them. Disaster showed on the children’s faces. “Oh, we don’t want Patricia to go home!” There were so many things still that they hadn’t shown her. But Mr. Lindsay came into the orchard calling out jovially: “Well! Here she is! Ready to go home now with Uncle Dave?” He took it for granted that she was. He took her reluctant little hand, and the other children trailed after them. When they reached the farmyard, he said, “See what’s going with us!” Patricia looked in awe and wonderment. “What is it?” she breathed. “Don’t you know what that is?” Mr. and Mrs. Sieverson, standing back, both laughed. The children too were grinning. Patricia ventured, “A baby cow!” Then they all laughed to think that she had known. “That’s what it is, all right. But don’t you know what baby cows are called? Calf! That’s a calf! Well, sir, do you want this little calf to go with us?” Patricia didn’t know whether or not Uncle Dave meant that for a joke. But the little calf was so sweet--she loved it so terribly the instant she saw it--that she couldn’t help risking that and begging, “Oh, yes!” Its head really was shaped like the tiny kittens’. But its eyes were very large and coloured a soft deep brown under a surface of rounded brightness, so gentle and so sad too, that it seemed to her as if the colour showed in each eye under a big tear. The calf turned its head toward her. Its frail legs bent inward, to prop it up. Its coat looked like cream spilled over with shining tar. There were curls, like the curly knots showing in freshly planed wood; and the shining ends of the hair looked as if they had curled because the whole coat had just been licked by the mother. “Oh, yes, Uncle Dave! Is it going _with_ us?” “It’s going to be our back-seat passenger. If the boss permits?” It made Mr. Sieverson laugh--feel tickled--to see how the thought of riding to town with that calf pleased the little girl. But he said dutifully to Mr. Lindsay: “Now, if that calf’s going to be any nuisance to you----” “No, no. As long as I’ve got the old car, put it in. Tie it up.” Patricia saw the rope then in Mr. Sieverson’s hand. She cried, “Oh, not _tie_ the little calf!” “Sure,” Mr. Sieverson said, grinning kindly at her. “You don’t want it to jump out, do you?” She looked at Uncle Dave for confirmation of that. He said: “Sure! Calves won’t go riding any other way.” The two boys laughed. Patricia stood back close to Leone but not saying anything more. She looked frightened. Mr. Sieverson said, with some feeling of reassuring her still more: “You don’t want to let this calf get loose or you won’t get any of it!” She didn’t understand that. “Get any of it to eat. This calf’s going to make veal.” “Eat it?” she cried in horror; and she earnestly put him right. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t _eat_ it.” Mr. Sieverson was joking. “Why, sure!” he said. “Don’t you eat good veal? You’re going to take this calf to the butcher.”