The agent fixed the rope to the horns of one of the cows, and threw the other end to Mademoiselle.  “Now,” said he, “pull gently to begin with.”

Mademoiselle, pale but valiant, pulled, quietly at first, then harder.  The cow put her head down, braced her feet and backed.

“Come on,” cried Mademoiselle to the others, “we’ll all have to pull together.”

Any one who could get hold of it seized the rope.

“I never played ‘pom pom pull away’ with a cow before,” quavered Louise.  “I—­I—­don’t feel sure she knows the rules of the game!”

“She’ll soon learn,” said Mademoiselle, grimly.  “Don’t welch.  Now, then, one—­two—­three—­pull!”

At the word, they all leaned back and pulled.  The cow, yielding suddenly, shot out of the car like a cork out of a champagne bottle, and the girls attached to the rope went down like a row of bricks.  The rope flew out of their hands, and the cow went careering down the track with the rope dangling wildly after her, while the other cow, fired by her example, came bawling after.  When they found grass by the roadside they became reasonable at once.  Mother Meraut then took charge of them, and, as Kathleen remarked, “that ended the first movement.”  The second began when the goats were unloaded.  Mademoiselle took no chances with them.  She got the agent to put ropes on them in the first place, and Kathleen and Louise, cautiously advancing to the plank, held up propitiatory offerings of grass.

“That ’s right,” laughed Mademoiselle, “leading citizens with bouquets!  Perhaps a speech of welcome might help.  They aren’t the first old goats to be received that way.”

“Hush!” implored Louise.  “My knees are knocking together so I can hardly stand up now, and suppose they should butt!”

“In the words of the immortal bard ‘butt me no butts,’” murmured Kathleen, as they reached the gang-plank.

The agent, having attached the rope and released the goats from their moorings, stood back and gave them full access to the open door, holding the other end of the rope firmly in his hands.  “You can take the ropes when they are safely down the plank,” he cried gallantly.  “They need a man to handle them.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Kathleen and Louise with one voice.

The goats accepted the suggestion of the open door at once and galloped down the gang-plank with such reckless speed that the agent lost his footing and came coasting down after them.  “Mille tonneurs!” he exclaimed, as he reached the end of the gang-plank and struck a bed of gravel.  “Those goats are possessed of the devil!”

The Doctor was beside him in an instant.  “I hope you are not injured,” she cried.  “Is there anything I can do for you?  I am a doctor.”

“No, Madame,” said the agent, bowing politely, as he got himself on his feet again, “I am hurt only in my pride, and you have no medicine for that!”

“Oh,” cried Mademoiselle, “how brave it was of you!  It’s as you say—­they need a man to manage them!”