Scowls of surprise were bent on me by all.
“Behold the chariot of Apollo and the horses thereof,” said I, and led the way to the front door, whither I was followed by all.
In front of the house stood a comfortable-looking hay wagon carpeted with straw and hitched to it were twelve oxen.
They were of all sorts and sizes, from a pair of huge white blanketed ones to two little black Holstein leaders; they were mottled, brown, mahogany and fawn color and the black Holsteins had gold leafed horns in honor of the occasion. At the side of this “string” stood Sam Goodman and his son.
“Are we going in that?”
“That we are going in,” said I proudly. “If we have luck we’ll get there inside of three hours. How far is it, Mr. Goodman?”
“Between six an’ seven miles. What d’yer think of the string? Prize winners?”
“They ought to be.”
“What does he do with so many cows?” said Cherry.
“Where—where did you come from, baby dear?” said Tom. “Those are called oxen in this part of the country. Not all yours are they?” turning to Sam.