She nodded “yes” and he went to the car, bringing back with him the mysteriously covered basket.  “You shall take the cover off, Pussy,” he said.

Mary Jane pulled back the cover cloth and there, inside, was a basket full to the brim of—­yes, it was—­roasting ears!  The very first of the season!

“We keep watch of our corn patch, we do,” said Grandfather, and he nodded solemnly at Mary Jane, “and now we’re going to have something good.”

They piled the roasting ears in on the hot coals, then they built another fire over the top of them, and by the time that had burned down the corn was ready to eat.

Grandmother and Mother and Alice unpacked the baskets and they all sat around and enjoyed the feast.  Grandmother’s fried chicken and crullers and rolls and Alice’s fine cake, which was given the place of honor on a rock by itself where it could be seen all the time till they were ready to eat it, were pronounced the best ever.

The moon rose so clear and big and beautiful that it was hard to tell just when day ended and night began.  So it was a surprise when Grandfather announced that it was eight o’clock and high time they were starting home.  The few scraps, and there weren’t very many, were packed neatly into one basket and the party regretfully left the rocks and started for the car.

“Nobody ever comes along this road at this time of night,” said Grandfather.  “I’ll just get the car out into the middle of the road where you can get in easier.”  So he pulled it away from the fence where he had left it, and ran it out into the middle of the road.  “Here, Pussy,” he added, “run around on the other side of the car and hand me that basket.”

Mary Jane did as she was told and after he had taken the basket from her she waited in the middle of the road, by the car, till he should be ready to help her in.

No one ever knew quite how it happened—­it was all so sudden.  Perhaps the other driver, too, thought that no one was ever on that road at that time of the evening.  Out of the shadows and the moonshine, around the curve of the road, came a roadster moving so fast that before its driver could realize that some one stood in the center of the road, he had hit Mary Jane squarely and had tossed her over the fence on the opposite side of the road.

Grandfather jumped over the fence after her as quickly as he could out of the car, but, quick as he was, Mary Jane’s father was quicker.  He picked up the little girl, carried her back to her mother and together they ran their hands over her—­no bones seemed to be broken; her heart was beating and she was breathing.  But just breathing, that was all.  She lay in her mother’s arms as still and quiet—­so still and so quiet that she didn’t seem like Mary Jane—­the Mary Jane who was always running and talking and lively.

Without more than a half-dozen necessary words Grandfather and Grandmother, Father, Mother and Alice got into the car and Grandfather put on all speed.  The one thought in every one’s mind was to get to Dr. Smith as quickly as ever they could.  Grandfather was thankful for the moonlight that made the way so plain and he drove home the fastest he had ever driven.