“HOW are we going over to the fair at Oakham?” asked Cherry, the evening before that event.

“I’ve provided for it,” said I.

“Not th’ ould scut?” said Ethel.

“Hardly. Let’s see, there are ten of us.”

“Twelve,” said Ethel, “or thirteen.”

“No, ten.”

“Twelve. Minerva and James are going and we’re to have lunch over there.”

“Five buggies, two in each,” said Sibthorp as unconsciously as he could.

“Fine,” said Hepburn and Billy in the same breath, and Cherry blushed rose red.

“Couldn’t get buggies, but I think you’ll all be pleased at the conveyance,” said I. “It’ll be quite a ride. Three hours there and three hours back.”

“Goodness,” said Cherry; “I thought it was only about seven miles away.”

“It might be 200 miles away if we took a special,” said Sibthorp suggestively.

“And only a few rods if we took snails,” said Tom and laughed uproariously.

“It’s something between snails and specials,” said I, but further than that I was sphynxlike.

Next morning was a crisp, smoke scented October morning, the air full of the snap of early fall, the landscape hinting at coming crimsons and yellows, the sky a clear blue, guiltless of clouds.

We rose early and while we were at breakfast we heard the lowing of cattle.

“Whose cow’s loose this morning?” asked Tom.

“That’s the voice of our steeds, if I’m not mistaken. Get your wraps and traps and come.”

Scowls of surprise were bent on me by all.

“Behold the chariot of Apollo and the horses thereof,” said I, and led the way to the front door, whither I was followed by all.

In front of the house stood a comfortable-looking hay wagon carpeted with straw and hitched to it were twelve oxen.

They were of all sorts and sizes, from a pair of huge white blanketed ones to two little black Holstein leaders; they were mottled, brown, mahogany and fawn color and the black Holsteins had gold leafed horns in honor of the occasion. At the side of this “string” stood Sam Goodman and his son.

“Are we going in that?”

“That we are going in,” said I proudly. “If we have luck we’ll get there inside of three hours. How far is it, Mr. Goodman?”

“Between six an’ seven miles. What d’yer think of the string? Prize winners?”

“They ought to be.”

“What does he do with so many cows?” said Cherry.

“Where—where did you come from, baby dear?” said Tom. “Those are called oxen in this part of the country. Not all yours are they?” turning to Sam.

“No, sir. Mine are the white blankets. But all Egerton cattle and we’ve taken fust prize for four years hand runnin’! Whoapp, Jerry! Whenever you’re ready I’m ready, Mr. Vernon.”

Which was local for “Please hurry up,” so I told our party to get aboard as soon as possible and we would start for the cattle show.

There is no better way of enjoying scenery than to go out riding behind a team of cattle. One has all the slowness obtainable by walking and yet one is riding, and can give his full attention to the beauties of either side of the road. To those who are not in too great a hurry I commend this form of locomotion!

At last we were ready, and after we were all seated James helped the giggling Minerva to a seat in the back. She and James were the only ones who had real seats. The rest of us sat in the straw.

“G’long!” shouted Mr. Goodman, and the oxen started.

“Isn’t this fun?” said Cherry, wriggling her shoulders with delight.

“Fine, and after three hours of it walking will be even more fun,” said Tom.

“Oh, I’ve forgotten the lunch,” said Ethel.

“Now, look here,” said Tom, “we mustn’t stop this procession. Give me the key, Philip, and I’ll go back after the lunch and—”

“Whoa,” shouted Mr. Goodman.

“Don’t stop,” cried Tom. “I’ve only got to go back to the house. I’ll catch up. Keep ’em going.”

“Whoohaw, gee a little,” shouted Goodman, snapping his long whip and the oxen kept up their sleepy pace, while Tom ran back to the house to get the lunch.

“Isn’t this lovely?” said Cherry. “Whenever we get tired of riding we can walk on ahead and wait for the team to catch up. Why haven’t we ever done this before?”

“Because it would be something of a task to get six pair of cattle on any day except fair day,” I explained. “And, by the way, this costs us nothing. Goodman is honoured at having us come. Said so—in other words. Was insulted when I spoke of payment.”

“I’m learning something new about the country people all the time,” said Cherry.

“Goodman sells cheeses. He doesn’t rent cattle. If we had wanted a cheese it would have cost us market prices, but a ride after the Egerton string honours him and Egerton. That’s the Yankee of it.”

“Isn’t it glorious? Where is Mr. Warden? He’ll surely get left.”

Just then an automobile going to the fair came up behind us and passed us tooting the loudest horn I ever heard.

The cattle were not broken to automobiles and the leaders started to run, their example was followed all along the line, and in a minute (and to the secret gratification of Goodman, who had not liked Tom’s cavalier way of going back as if we were stationary) the six pair of cattle were running away.

The wagon bumped and pitched and we were pitched and bumped amid shrieks from Minerva and laughter from the rest.

“Whoo! Whoo, I say! Gee—haw! Whoo! WHOA! WHOA-UP!”

We had reached the brow of a little hill, at the base of which a pretty brook meanders across the road, and the frightened animals plunged down the hill regardless of their reputation for slowness.

As we left the brow of the hill we saw at the house Tom waving the lunch basket and calling to us to stop. He thought it was a trick, but we knew it wasn’t.

We beckoned him to come and then we gripped the sides of the wagon and wondered just how it would end.

At the side of the bridge the road led into a by path to the water and the wise Goodman, fearing that we would not keep the bridge at the rate we were going gee-ed them into the by path.

Whether the water had a cooling effect on them or what was the reason, I cannot say, but just as the wagon was in mid stream the forward oxen stopped, their example was passed down the line as it is on a freight train, and the series of jolts was finally communicated to the wagon and James and Minerva turned back summersaults into the water.

We all choked with laughter when they emerged, dripping.

“Don’t like cow ridin’,” said Minerva, shaking mud and water from her hat.

They were not hurt and by the advice of Ethel, Minerva went back to the house to get dry clothing. James waited to show her a short cut across the fields, so that we need not wait, and Tom came up with the lunch basket just as the cavalcade started again.

“Sorry I didn’t bring a wheel along,” said Tom. “If we find we’ve forgotten anything else it’ll be hard catching up. There’s quite some go in those beasts.”

“Them pesky devil wagons,” said Goodman. “I wish there was a law agin’ them.”

It is not my intention to tell of all the things that happened on the way. The oxen got accustomed to automobiles long before we reached Oakham and our progress became slower and slower as we had to take to the side of the road to let pass us the constantly thickening stream of vehicles of all kinds from every part of the county bound for the fair. Arrived at the grounds, wherever pretty Cherry went the boys were sure to go, while we elders went off by ourselves.

Ethel and I had hardly had a minute together since our guests had begun coming, but Ethel seemed to have thrived on the extra work and the added excitement. Of course it was the unlimited fresh air that had made it possible. We looked back on a very happy summer and were glad that everything had happened as it had.

“I wonder if Cherry has made up her mind yet,” said Ethel, while we were watching the efforts of a man to hit a darkey’s head with a base ball.

“She’ll have to make it up quickly unless she wants Hepburn and Sibthorp to possess their souls in patience during the fall.”

“And whichever of the two she takes there will be two disappointed men.”

“What, Billy?”

“Yes, I think, after all, he is hard hit.”

“And she treats him with amusing indifference. There they all go to have their tin-types takes. What children they are!”

It may have been a half hour later that Ethel and I were watching the energetic seller of whips.

Starting with one whip, which he offered for a dollar, and getting no takers at that price (for most of them had seen his operations before) he would offer two and then three and then four and at last half a dozen whips for the same dollar.

“An’ I’ll throw in this raw-hide just to make the game excitin’. Here, by George, I’m ashamed of myself to be such a poor business man as to give away fifteen dollars’ worth of whips for the price of one decent one, but I’m bound to make a sale if I give you my whole stock for a dollar. He-ere we have a bobby ............