We scurried around, collecting and packing our scattered belongings, then decided to make a dash for a big barn which stood not far down the road at the foot of a hill, for the rain was beginning to fall heavily. Reaching the highway, we sprang to saddle and sped down the hill. With a sickening lurch the front wheel struck a slippery patch of mud at the bottom, the hind wheel skidding sideways. The heel of my right shoe caught in the pedal shaft and in a trice was torn from my foot and sent spinning ten feet away. Dan went sprawling on the wet earth, while I hopped awkwardly along, bruising my shins, but clinging desperately to the handle bars with both hands. Dan picked himself up and came to my assistance. “Pick up my heel, please,” said I, standing like a stork on one foot. Dan stared at me dazedly. “Pick up my heel,” I cried impatiently. He reached for my foot. “Do you think I’m a horse waiting to be shod? Don’t you see the heel of my shoe lying over there in the mud?” With that he retrieved the loosened heel and we hurried through the steady downpour to the barn. The owner came out and, having listened to our tale of woe, gave us some shingle nails to repair the torn shoe and bade us build a fire beneath a shed to prepare breakfast. Dan fulfilled the augury of the previous day by the purchase of some fresh eggs, and soon we were feasting on bacon and eggs and pints of steaming coffee. Good? Why nectar and ambrosia were stale beside it. After the meal, we repaired to the barn loft and, easing our weary bones into the prickly depths of hay, awaited the end of the storm. FOUR _May 6th, 1908._ FOUR _May 6th, 1908._ Dan found work! Only a day and a half, but a few hours were better than nothing, and gave us hope. The sun was setting as a wagon rattled up the road with Dan dangling his feet over the endgate. “Come on, Ethel,” he cried, “our friend here has offered us a place in his barn and plenty of dry corn cobs for the fire.” I sprang up and we loaded the wheel into the wagon. Soon the driver entered a lane which ended in a large barnyard, and as Dan began to help with the team, I unloaded the cooking outfit. The farmer was pulling some grain sacks from a large tub in the wagon bed. “Here’s plenty of fish,” he said. “Just pitch in and help yourselves.” Our eyes bulged in astonishment at sight of the silvery heaps that filled the tub. “Where on earth did you get so many?” gasped Dan. “South o’ the road where the river has overflowed its banks. The boys are heaving them out with pitchforks and spears and even bare handed. Take all you want. I’ve three times as many as Sarah Jane and I can eat.”