haven't been in this neighborhood long, and she don't know any one."

"What's the cow's name?" asked Anne, whose eyes were like dewy
forget-me-nots.

"Sweetheart. The biggest girl named her, and when I went out of the
gate she just sat down on the step and looked after us, and her eyes
hurt me, they were so sad."

The little cow moved restlessly. "I guess I'll have to go," sighed
Launcelot, standing like a Peri outside the gates of Paradise, and
contrasting the coolness and quiet of the old garden with the heat and
dust of the long white road. "I guess I'll have to take Sweetheart on."

But just then down the path came Perkins, dignified in white linen, and
in his hand he bore a tray on which a glass pitcher, misty with
coolness and showing ravishing glimpses of lemon peel and ice, promised
delicious refreshment.

"You come and have some lemonade, Mr. Launcelot," said Perkins, as he
set the tray on the table, "I'll hold the cow."

And, as they all insisted, Launcelot came in, and Perkins went without
the gate.

But, alas, Sweetheart was a cow of many moods, and as the gay little
party in the garden sipped the cooling drink in the shade of the trees,
the little cow, growing restive out there in the sun with the flies
worrying her, suddenly ducked her head and ran.

And after her, still holding the rope, went the immaculate Perkins, to
be dragged hither and thither by her erratic movements, while he
shouted desperately, "Whoa."

And after Perkins went the excited Terry-dog, and after Terry went
Launcelot, and after Launcelot went Judy, and then Anne, and then far
in the rear, the Judge, while Captain Jameson, too weak to run, stood
at the gate and watched.

It was a brave race. Perkins had grit and he would not let go of the
rope, and Sweetheart wanted to go home and she would not stop running,
and so the procession went up the dusty road and down a dusty hill, and
then up another dusty hill, and down a cool green bank, where seeing
ahead of her a murmuring limpid stream, Sweetheart dashed into it,
stood still, and placidly drank in long sighing gulps.

Perkins went in after her, and was rescued by Launcelot, while Judy and
Anne stood on the bank and laughed until the tears ran down their
cheeks.

Perkins laughed, too, as he emerged wet and dripping, but beaming.

"I didn't let her go," he chuckled, a little proud of his agility in
his old age, and Launcelot said admiringly, "I didn't think you had it