the farmer's family across the slope, Frank
lounging along beside him. They did not talk. Frank staggered as he
walked, he was so tired, and Ernest, who was accustomed to long flights,
was silent too. The pain in his arm was about all he could bear, and he
did not feel in the mood for talking to the fellow who had injured him.
So they moved silently across the soft sod, the farmer and his wife
talking busily to Bill. The two children and the three dogs ran and
frolicked in the rear. From the distant second growth the herd gazed
out, still suspicious. They had almost forgotten to chew their cuds!

The roly-poly farmer's wife gave them a feast. Home-cured ham and
home-laid eggs and corn pone and jam and jelly and cake and molasses and
all sorts of good things besides, including cream to drink--real cream,
all blobby on the sides of the glass. Bill thought he would never get
enough to eat, and even Frank consumed about enough for two boys. As
soon as the meal was over, Ernest made Bill go and lie down on Webby's
bed. Frank was given the narrow horsehair sofa in the stuffy parlor, but
Ernest knew that Bill must sleep in an airy room, and the parlor had not
been opened since the war of '60 to judge by the musty closeness of it.
Ernest himself was in too much pain to rest so he sat and talked
aviation with the farmer for a few minutes and then they went down to
the lot to take a look at the machine. The farmer's wife had stacked her
dishes and was there before them.

Not even his mother was allowed inside the scratch by the important and
faithful Webby. He stood guard beside the machine, enjoying the proudest
moment of his life. In after years, when Webby, goaded on by that
fateful landing, had gained the highest rung of fame's ladder, his
triumph was little compared to that clear sunset time in the pasture
when he stood guard over the wonder-car that had come from the sky with
its pilot and passengers scarcely older than himself.

When Ernest approached, the crowd surged forward, but Webby sternly
drove them back.

There were growls from the outsiders, who yearned to step over the
danger line and look and handle and if possible go off with a bit of
wire or string or what not, as a keepsake. But Webby was adamant,
although he was obliged to make dates for the following day with three
boys who insisted on fighting him out of revenge.

One glance at the plane assured Ernest that everything was exactly as he
had left it. He