ignant flap of its wings, rose a few inches from the ground,
and pecked at Mr. Rooster. A moment later the goose continued its
dignified march.

This incident was too much for Grace's irascible rooster. With a
terrified crow he darted first this way, then that, until Grace was wound
up in her own red silk reins. It seemed a hopeless task to try to reach
the goal.

It was another instance of the old story of the hare and the tortoise.
While Grace struggled with her rooster, a fat duck waddled past her. The
duck's mistress had enticed her nearly the whole length of the journey by
throwing grains of corn a yard or so ahead of her steed. Of course, any
well disposed duck would move forward for refreshments.

Dorothy Morton arrived safely at the first goal with her old gray goose.
But now her troubles really began. Her steed had no disposition to return
to the crowd of noisy spectators that it had so cheerfully left behind.
Dorothy tugged at one of her heavy white reins. The goose continued
placidly on its way across the broad field. A goose is not a pleasant
bird in attack, and Dorothy did not like to resort to forcible methods.

Assistance came from an unexpected quarter. Grace's rooster had at last
been persuaded to rush violently between the required posts. In one of
its excited turns, it brushed close behind the old goose. Here was a
chance for revenge! The rooster gave a flying peck at the goose's tail
feathers and flew on.

With a loud squawk the goose turned completely around. It flew up in the
air, then down to the ground again, and made a rush for its opponent. But
the rooster was unworthy game. It tacked too often to the right and left.
The old gray goose gave up its pursuit in disgust. Since it was headed
toward the starting-place it took up its walk again, Dorothy Morton
meekly following it.

Only three of the girls remained in the race. Ruth had given up in
despair. Her turkey had wandered off to parts unknown. Another girl sat
on an upturned stump feeding crumbs to a motherly hen that had found
walking disagreeable and had taken to scratching around the roots of a
tree.

Dorothy passed her rival with the duck midway on her journey back home.
The duck took no further interest in corn. It had eaten all that a
well-bred fowl could desire. Now it squatted in the grass to enjoy a
well-earned repose.

Shrieks of laughter rose when Dorothy Morton at last drove her gray goose
back to the judge's stand.

"H