A PLACID RUNAWAY 13 



where we could hear the insistent note of the 

 little phcebe that was building under the 

 eaves of the woodshed. Our hostess stood in 

 the doorway, watching in amused tolerance 

 as we filled and refilled our goblets. They 

 were wonderful goblets, be it said the best 

 the house afforded. Jonathan s was of fancy 

 green glass, all covered with little knobs; mine 

 was yellow, with a head of Washington 

 stamped on one side, and &quot;God Bless our 

 Country&quot; on the other. Finally the good 

 woman broke the silence &quot;Guess your 

 mothers ain t never weaned ye.&quot; Which we 

 were not in a position to refute. 



On our return train we found the same 

 conductor who had taken us out in the morn 

 ing. As he folded back the green cover of 

 our mileage book he could not forbear re 

 marking, quizzically, &quot;Know how far you re 

 goin to-night?&quot; 



&quot;Jonathan,&quot; I said, as we settled to toast 

 and tea before our home fireplace that even 

 ing, &quot;I like running away. I don t blame 

 horses.&quot; 



