“I should say she did!” giggled Joyce.  “The way Tarbaby got over the ground was something to remember, and the way Lloyd yelled would have made a wild coyote take to its heels.  Just as we got in sight of the toll-gate, we met one of those big three-story huckster-wagons, full of chickens and ducks and things.  You know how funny they always look, with so many bills and legs and tails sticking through the slats.  Well, the horses shied as we went dashing up to them, and first thing we knew they had backed that wagon into a ditch at the side of the road, and one of the coops went off the top ke-bang! into the ditch.”

“You never saw anything madder than that old huckster,” interrupted Eugenia.  “He jumped down off the wagon, and came up to us with a big whip in his hands, scolding, as cross as two sticks.  But he couldn’t stay angry with those boys.  They were so polite, and apologised, and said if they had done anything wrong they wanted to make it right.  They offered to pay for the coop if it was broken, and got off their horses to help him lift it on to the wagon again.  But when they took hold of it three chickens flopped out of the broken side, and went squawking across the fields.”

“It was so funny!” laughed Lloyd.  “There they went, legs stretching, wings flapping, lickety split!  It made me think of Papa Jack’s story about the old witch:  ‘she ran, she flew, she ran, she flew!’ We all told the old huckstah we’d help him catch them and that’s why we got so dirty.”

[Illustration:  “‘BUT WE CAUGHT THE CHICKENS AND BROUGHT THEM BACK.’”]

“Oh, such a chase!” added Joyce.  “Through barb-wire fences, over ploughed fields and into blackberry briers.  That is how we got so scratched and torn.  But we caught the chickens, and brought them back, with feathers flying, and with them squawking at the tops of their voices.”

“What fun it must have been!” said Betty.  “I wish I could have seen you then, and I wish I could see you now.  You must be wrecks.”

“They are not pretty sights, I can assure you,” said Mrs. Sherman, laughing in spite of her disapproval.  “I’m astonished that you would make such a commotion on a public road, and I’m afraid I would have to lecture you a little if I were not sure that you would never do it again.  Run along now and make yourselves presentable for lunch, and first thing you do, look in your mirrors.  You’ll not be charmed, I’m sure.”

“One little, two little, three little Indians,” sang Betty, as they skipped out of the room, hand in hand, and Joyce whispered in the hall, “How can she be so cheerful?  She’s the bravest little thing I ever saw.”

They learned the secret of her cheerfulness next time they went to her room.  She turned to them with a wistful little smile, sadder, somehow, than tears, saying, “Godmother has helped me to find some stars in my long night, girls.  She told me about Milton.  I didn’t know before that he was blind when he wrote ‘Paradise Lost.’  And she told me about Fanny Crosby, too, the blind hymnwriter, whose hymns have helped so many people and are sung all over the world.