"I think so, too," agreed the Little Colonel, stooping to fasten the
locust blossoms more securely behind the pony's ears.

"Well, the invitations are off now. Come on, Tarbaby, and see if you
can't beat Bobby Moore's old gray hawse so bad it will be ashamed to
evah race again."

With that the little black pony was off like an arrow toward Locust,
with the big gray horse thundering hard at its heels.

The dust flew, dogs barked, and chickens ran squawking across the road
out of the way. Heads were thrust out of the windows as the two vanished
up the dusty pike, and an old graybeard loafing in front of the corner
grocery gave an amused chuckle. "Beats all how them two do get over the
ground," he said. "They ride like Tarn O'Shanter, and I'll bet a quarter
there's nothing on earth that either of 'em are afraid of."

A little while later the three white envelopes were jogging sociably
along, side by side in a mail-bag, on their way to Louisville. But
their course did not lie together long. In the city post-office they
were separated, and sent on their different ways, like three white
carrier-pigeons, to bid the guests make ready for the Little Colonel's
house party.




CHAPTER II.

"ONE FLEW INTO THE CUCKOO'S NEST."