Spot grinned as he sneaked away, yelping.
At last they entered the village. Main Street was thronged with people. Carriages and wagons of all sorts lined the road on both sides—glistening buggies with red ribbons tied in bows about the whip stocks, old lumber wagons with chairs set behind the driver's seat.
Johnnie Green had never seen such a gathering—not even at the fair.
"The whole county's here!" he exclaimed. "I hope we'll find a good place to stop, where we can see the parade."
They did. Farmer Green backed the bays into the last open space in the gutter. And Johnnie Green was greatly relieved.
The crowd made such a roar, with its talking and laughter, that old Spot cowered down under the carryall and almost wished he had stayed at home. The cries of men selling peanuts and popcorn, squawkers and toy balloons, mingled with the shouts of small boys and the squeals of their sisters.
"Goodness!" Spot murmured. "What a racket! It hurts my ears."
A moment later he stuck his nose out from beneath the carriage and burst into a mournful howl.
"Keep still!" Farmer Green ordered.
Little did he know, then, what made Spot cry like that. But in a minute or two Johnnie Green heard the same thing that Spot's sharp ears had caught first. And Johnnie howled too.