“How far is it?”
“Oh, not far.”
“No; right at the bottom o' the Cat's-tail,” the boy joyfully explained.
“He means the foot o' Cat-tail Peak!” the mother apologized.
“How many miles?”
“Just a little ways—ye can't miss it; the third house you come to on this road.”
“You'll be there in three shakes of a sheep's tail—in that thing!” the boy declared.
Jim waved his thanks, threw in his gear, and the car shot forward on the level stretch of road beyond the house. He slowed down when out of sight.
“Gee! I'd love to have that kid in a wood-shed with a nice shingle all by ourselves for just ten minutes.”
“The people spoil him,” Mary laughed. “The people who stop there for the Mount Mitchell climb. He was a baby when I was there six years ago”—she paused and a rapt look crept into her eyes—“a beautiful little baby, her first-born, and she was the happiest thing I ever saw in my life.”