The blacksmith was already off to start his smithy fire in the shop at the fork of the roads. “Mother,” with the help of a neighbor’s daughter called in for this emergency, was hurrying about the kitchen and dining room preparing the huge breakfast she thought necessary for these unexpected guests.
Neale O’Neil came out, yawning as he had gone to bed, and opened the door of the shed in which the automobile had been lodged in lieu of a proper garage. Neale always looked over the car before they started the day’s run, as all careful chauffeurs should.
The children ran for the automobile, of course, before Neale could back it out of the shed; and as Tess and Dot and Sammy jumped on the steps to ride out, a white hen flew from the tonneau with a wild squawk.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” cried Tess. “What do you s’pose that hen was doing there?”
The hen had flown to the top rail of the calf pen, and there proceeded to “cut, cut, cu-da-cut!” just as loud as she could.
“Aw, what are you squalling about?” Sammy demanded. “Nobody hurt you.”
“Maybe she wants to go to ride with us in our automobile,” said Dot demurely.
When the automobile was backed out upon the gravel it was Tess who looked into the tonneau and spied the reason for Mrs. White Hen’s loud remarks. There it lay, white and warm, upon the rear seat.
“Goodness! Goodness me!” gasped Tess, with clasped hands. “Isn’t that cunning? She laid an egg right here for us, Dot.”
“My,” Dot observed, “maybe she thought she could pay for a ride with us.”