The sole result of his inquiry however was to establish the fact that both Cassells had left town, closing their house and announcing that they would be gone for some time.

As there was nothing further to be gained by remaining in Meadville, the entire party, after lunch, set out once more, a big crowd witnessing the departure of the aerial tourists.

They flew fast, and as the roads were excellent the auto had no difficulty in keeping up with them.  On through the afternoon they soared along, sometimes swooping low above an alluring bit of scenery and again heading their machines skyward in pure exuberance of spirits.  Their troubles at Meadville forgotten, they flew their machines like sportive birds; never had any of them experienced more fully the joy of flight, the sense of freedom that comes from traveling untrammeled into the ether.

They had passed above a small village and were flying low, those in the auto waving to them, when Peggy, in the Golden Butterfly, gave a sudden exclamation.

“Oh, look,” she shouted, “a flock of sheep, and right in the path of the auto.”

At that moment all of them saw the sheep, a large flock, headed by a belligerent looking ram with immense horns.  Jake, who was driving the car, slowed up as he approached the flock.  The woolly herd, huddled together helplessly, made no effort to get out of the road.  Behind them a man and a boy shouted and yelled vigorously, but with no more effect than to bunch the animals more squarely in the path of the advancing car.

All at once, just as the car was slowed down to almost a walking pace, a big ram separated himself from the flock and actually rushed for the front seat of the car.

Jake uttered a yell as the woolly creature gave him a hard butt, knocking him out of his seat.  But this wasn’t all.

By some strange freak the animal had landed in the car in a sitting posture.  Now the young aviators roared with laughter to behold the creature seated in Jake’s forcibly vacated place.  Its hoofs rested on the driving wheel.

Forward plunged the car, its queer driver with his feet wedged in the spokes of the steering wheel.  Aloft the flock of young aviators roared with laughter at the sight.  It was the oddest experience they had yet had—­this spectacle of a grave-looking, long-horned ram driving an auto, while Jake prudently kept out of reach of those horns.  As for Miss Prescott and The Wren, they cowered back in the tonneau in keen alarm.

“Oh!” cried Peggy suddenly, “there comes a runabout; that ram will surely collide with it!”

A runabout coming in the opposite direction dashed round a corner of the country road at this juncture.  The driver was a young girl, but she was veiled and her features could not be seen under the thick face covering.

Apparently the ram saw the other car coming, for the animal actually appeared to make a halfway intelligent effort to steer the car out of the road.