Grandfather was forced to stand on the doorstep and call the last part of his directions after Susan. For at the first mention of a drive she had caught Phil’s hand and started on a run up the driveway leading to his house.
Mrs. Vane hastily polished off her son with a corner of the kitchen roller towel, snuggled him into a warm sweater, and sent word to Grandfather that she was very glad to have Philip go driving, though he didn’t need to work up an appetite she was sure.
Grandmother made Susan hunt for her straw hat which, strange to say, was not to be found upon its accustomed nail. Grandmother and Phil searched downstairs, while Susan ran about frantically upstairs, so afraid they would be late that she could only half look. But at last she discovered her hat upside down under the bed, with rubber Snowball taking a nap in it, just as Susan had put her to bed the day before.
In spite of this delay the children were in good time, and with Susan wedged tightly on the seat between Grandfather and the minister, and Phil standing between the great leather boots with either hand on Grandfather’s knee, they drove off in fine style.
Mr. Drew was the village minister, a young man with a pleasant manner and a twinkle in his kind blue eyes. He and Grandfather were special friends. They liked to talk together, though they rarely agreed, and sometimes became so excited in their talk that you might almost think they were quarreling. But of course Susan knew better than that.
Grandfather’s horse, big bony Nero, had hurt his knee and had been turned out to grass to rest and recover. So this afternoon Mr. Drew held the reins and chirruped gently to his little brown Molly as she carried them briskly along the road.
As the grown-up talk rumbled on over her head, Susan peered out like a bright-eyed bird, and at every interesting landmark or familiar spot she called, “Look, Phil, look!” until from its frequent turning there was some danger that Phil’s head might snap completely off its frail little neck.
“There is the old schoolhouse, Phil,” called Susan. “We can play house on the doorstep.
“And here is the row of cherry trees. By and by we will come here with a pail.
“And, Phil, the crossest old cow lives in this field. Don’t you ever come here by yourself. Once I only climbed up on the fence to look at her, and she put down her head and ran at me. And how she did moo—as cross as anything.”