Sam once or twice in our lives with great effect. He hopped in and I
started at top speed.

"Hic-chew! Fine goer that," wheezed the doctor, and I didn't know
whether he alluded to me or Redwheels. But there was evident relish of
real pace in his voice, so I speeded up and shot away from the main road
into the hard dirt lane in good style.

"I'm a bird--I'm a bird!" shouted the picked fledgling at my side as we
whizzed under dark cedar boughs that waved funereal plumes over our
heads, and over stumps and stones with utter disregard of the heavy new
tires. One of the lessons I learned early is that men are timid of a
woman's driving them in any vehicle, and I was surprised that I at last
rounded the bend and drew up beside a long, low shed which Sam had
calmly pointed out to me, without having had a single remonstrance from
the back seat.

"Moo," came in a gentle, sad voice from the depths of the shed as we all
began to disembark at the same time.

"Well, one is alive, anyway," said Sam as he set Byrd on the ground and
held up his arms to me. "It's good to have you back, Betty," he
whispered, in an undertone, as he turned me against his shoulder to set
me down. "It 'll all go right now that you are here to--"

"Now tell us what to do, Doctor." I interrupted him determinedly,
because I felt that it was not the occasion for friendly
sentimentalities.

If at any time in the three years that preceded that night I had