"Hungry! That's no name for it!" voiced Miss Dixon. "Have you any lobsters, Mr. Apgar?"
"Lobsters? No'm. They don't raise none of them birds out here. But we got chicken."
"Oh, listen to him, Pearl!" exclaimed Miss Dixon. "He thinks a lobster is a bird."
"Don't mind them," said Paul Ardite to Sandy, in a low voice. "It hasn't been many years that they could afford lobster. Chicken for mine, every time."
"Well, they do say ma cooks th' best chicken around here," spoke Sandy, proudly. "She done it in Southern style this time."
"Say no more!" exclaimed Mr. DeVere. "Sandy, you are a gentleman and a scholar. How long will it take us to get to your farm?"
"About half an hour."
"That's twenty-nine minutes too long, since you have mentioned chicken in Southern style. But do your best."
Seated in the comfortable carryall, the members of the moving picture company began their trip to Oak Farm. The way lay along a pleasant country road, and in the distance could be seen the cool, green hills.
It was early June, and, all about, the farmers were doing their work. The air was sweet with the scent of flowers and the green woods, for the road led past several forest patches where the wind swept pleasantly through the swaying trees.