“We’d like to take some pictures, please, on your beautiful place.” Stone houses and horses we had quite forgotten for the moment in the wealth of moving picture backgrounds the estate provided. “We’re stopping up at the Inn for a week--doing some Fenimore Cooper stories, and we are looking primarily for a stone house and some horses.” “Have you seen the old stone house down below?” “Stone house?” I repeated to myself; then to be sure, whispered to Bitzer, “Did he say a _stone_ house?” Bitzer replied, “Yes, he said a stone house.” Mr. Griffith managed to pull himself together, but his answer came rather halting, “Why, why, no.” “Come along and I’ll show you. Maybe you can use it.” Weak-kneed and still struggling for breath we trailed along--and when we saw it-- Just built for us was the old stone house that had been on the place so long that no one knew when it had been built. But we hesitated. “We’ll have to bring horses, because the party leaves on horseback, and that would mess up your place too much.” “Oh, yes, I forgot, you haven’t your horses yet. I wonder if some of ours would do,” said Mrs. Goddefroy, who was none other than the gingham-clad lady. Back to the stable we went, emotionally upset by now, but trying to appear calm. We’d been quite reconciled to take a stab at it with the rough work-horses of the Cuddebackville farmer; had thought to groom them up a bit and let it go at that. But here were gentlemen’s horses. Yes, gentlemen’s horses, but neither Miss Leonard nor myself rode, and these spirited prancing creatures of the Goddefroy stables filled us with alarm. I would look for something “gentle,” and not too young and peppy, but with the characteristics of good breeding and training. And that is how “Mother” and I met. “Mother” is one of the treasured memories of my motion picture life. What a gentle old mother she was! healthy, so lazy, and so safe. How relieved I was--how at ease on her broad back. “Mother” ambled on the scene and “Mother” ambled off; she ate the grasses and the flowers on the canal bank; she was not a bit concerned over having her picture taken. I have always felt the credit was wholly hers that my uncle, my sister, and I made our journey safely until the bad Indians surprised us going through the woods. * * * * * It was lots of fun being invited on these location-hunting expeditions. An automobile ride was luxury. These were the first and we were getting them for nothing. No, the picture business was not so bad after all. Back at the Inn the Indians would be changing from leather fringes and feathered head dresses to their bathing suits. And when the location party returned, they’d have reached the green slopes of the Big Basin where, soap in hand, they would be sudsing off the brown bolamenia from legs and arms before the plunge into the cool waters of the Big Basin--a rinse and a swim “to onct.”