d the meadow to get the cows.

Geraldine came out of her apprehensive mental pictures with a sigh, and
rose. She gathered her flowers, and moved slowly back toward the house.

She must appear to have enjoyed her outing, else it would not seem
consistent for her to wish to come again to-morrow; and she must, she
must come again! Her poor contradictory little heart found itself
clinging to the one vague, absurd hope, despite its fears.

CHAPTER IX

The Bird of Prey

Not until another sunny day had passed uneventfully did Geraldine
realize how much hope she was hanging upon the knight of the
motor-cycle. Despite his youth, his manner and voice had been those of
one accustomed to exercising authority. He certainly had had something
definite in mind when he wrote that message to her. She knew so well
Pete's stupid demeanor, that, as she roamed in the meadow that second
day, she meditated on the probability that the visitor had despaired of
her receiving the message, and had concluded to abandon his idea,
whatever it might have been.

It was at least a relief from odious pressure to be out in the field
alone. The soft-eyed cows, an occasional bird flying overhead, and the
intermittent clicking of Pete's lawn-mower as he kept his respectful
distance were all peaceful. There was not a tree for a bird to light
upon. Even birds fled from the Carder farm. The great elm could have
sheltered many, but the feathered creatures seemed not to trust it.
Perhaps a reason lay in the fact that numbers of cats lived under the
barn and outhouses. Nearly always one might be seen crouching and
crawling along the ground looking cautiously to the right and left. None
was ever kept for a pet or allowed in the house or fed. They lived on
rats, mice, birds, and the field mice, and were practically wild
animals. In their frightened, suspicious actions at sight of a human
being, Geraldine recognized a reflection of her own mental attitude; and
she pitied the poor things even while they excited her repugnance.

Spring and no birds, she thought sadly, gathering her few wild flowers
when the cows had gone home that second afternoon. She strained her eyes
down the driveway, Blankness. Blankness everywhere. At the house,
misery.

The old fairy tales came to her mind. Tales where the captive princess
pines and hopes alternately.

"'On the second day all happened as before,'" she murmured in quotation.
It was always on the third day that s