She looked so strong and brown and merry, as she talked, that Elliott, comfortably established with "Lorna Doone," felt almost like flinging her book into the next chair, slipping her arm through Laura's, and crying, "Lead on!" But she remembered just in time that, as she hadn't wished to come to the Cameron Farm, it would ill become her to have a good time there. Which may seem like a childish way of looking at the thing, but isn't really confined to children at all. So the hay-makers tramped away down the road, their laughter floating cheerfully back over their shoulders; and Elliott sat on the big shady veranda and read her book. She might have enjoyed it less had she heard Henry's frank summary at the turn of the lane, when his father inquired the whereabouts of Stannard. "Beau Brummell hiked over to Upton half an hour ago. I offered him the other Henry, but he doesn't seem to care to drive anything short of a Pierce-Arrow. Twins, aren't they?" and Henry nodded in the direction of the veranda. "Sh-h!" reproved Laura. "They're our guests." "Guests is just it. Yes, they're _guests_, all right." "Mother says they don't know how to work," Priscilla observed. "That's another true word, too." Mother turned gaily in the road ahead. "Who is talking about me?" she called. Priscilla frisked on to join her, and Henry fell back to a confidential exchange with Laura. "Beau wouldn't be so bad if he could forget for a minute that he owned the earth and had a mortgage on the solar system. But when he tries to snub Bruce--gee, that gets me!" "Aren't you twanging the G string rather often lately, Hal?--Stannard can't snub Bruce. Bruce isn't the kind of fellow to be snubbed." "Just the same, it makes me sick to think anybody's a cousin to me that would try it." Laura switched back to the main subject. "We didn't ask them up here as extra farm hands, you know." "Bull's-eye," said Henry, and grinned. What she did not know failed to trouble Elliott. She read on in lonely peace through the afternoon. At a most exciting point the telephone rang. Four, that was the Cameron call. Elliott went into the house and took down the receiver. "Mr. Robert Cameron's," she said pleasantly. "S-say!" stuttered a high, sharp voice, "my little b-b-boys have let your c-c-cows out o' the p-p-pasture. I'll g-give 'em a t-t-trouncin', but 't won't git your c-c-cows back. They let 'em out the G-G-Garrett Road, and your medder gate's open. Jim B-B-Blake saw it this mornin'! Why the man didn't shut it, I d-d-dunno. You'll have to hurry to save your medder." "But," gasped Elliott, "I don't understand! You say the cows--" "Are comin' down G-Garrett Road," snapped the stuttering voice, "the whole kit an' b-b-bilin' of 'em. They'll be inter your upper m-medder in five m-m-minutes."