106 THE SPRING OF THE YEAR 



with layer after layer to the rim ; and covering all 

 smoothly with more sand, I ran back for my horse. 



" That horse knew, as well as I, that the turtles 

 had laid, and that he was to get those eggs to Agas- 

 siz. He turned out of that field into the road on two 

 wheels, a thing he had not done for twenty years, 

 doubling me up before the dashboard, the pail of 

 eggs miraculously lodged between my knees. 



" I let him out. If only he could keep this pace 

 all the way to Cambridge! or even half way there, 

 I would have time to finish the trip on foot. I 

 shouted him on, holding to the dasher with one hand, 

 holding the pail of eggs with the other, not daring 

 to get off my knees, though the bang on them, as 

 we pounded down the wood-road, was terrific. But 

 nothing must happen to the eggs ; they must not 

 be jarred, or even turned over in the sand before 

 they came to Agassiz. 



" In order to get out on the pike it was necessary 

 to drive back away from Boston toward the town. 

 We had nearly covered the distance, and were round- 

 ing a turn from the woods into the open fields, when, 

 ahead of me, at the station it seemed, I heard the 

 quick, sharp whistle of a locomotive. 



" What did it mean ? Then followed the puff, 

 puff, puff, of a starting train. But what train? 

 Which way going ? And jumping to my feet for a 

 longer view, I pulled into a side road that paralleled 

 the track, and headed hard for the station. 



