"You see, we want to find the owner of the cows," her father explained. "We can't leave them to eat their heads off among the alfalfa. But who knows where the farmer lives? He may be in that house we passed a mile or so back, or he may live on ahead. This way we'll make sure."
A half mile further on they came to a farm that looked as though it might be a dairy farm. As Artie observed, it had a barn and most farms had barns. Better still, there were two large silos. That meant there were cows to be fed through the winter. And Mr. Williamson said that the owner of two silos would plant alfalfa to go in them. So they turned up the winding road that brought them to the great white-washed barns.
"Good morning," Mr. Williamson greeted the man who came out of the barn with a pitchfork in his hand. "Have you missed any cows lately?"
"Haven't seen 'em since we drove them out to pasture this morning," the man replied. "Have they broken through the fence again?"
All the children nodded silently before Mr. Williamson could speak.
"I'll go get 'em. Where are they?" said the man, as though he was used to getting the cows.
"They had blocked the road till another five minutes would have meant a detour," Mr. Williamson told the farmer. "Cars were held up both ways, and we did the only thing we could do—drove them into an alfalfa field."
"You've more than done your part, driving up to tell me," the farmer declared. "I'll send the boys right down. And wouldn't the kids like some cold buttermilk to drink?"
In another minute he had sent two tall lads flying down the lane after the cows and his wife had come out and was asking them all to "stay for dinner."
"We have our lunch," Polly explained. "We're going to the seashore—Sunrise Beach."