After the varied adventures of the last two days it was almost a relief to be alone to think things over.  Here was I, Helen McGill, in a queer case indeed.  Instead of being home at Sabine Farm getting supper, I was trundling along a strange road, the sole owner of a Parnassus (probably the only one in existence), a horse, and a dog, and a cartload of books on my hands.  Since the morning of the day before my whole life had twisted out of its accustomed orbit.  I had spent four hundred dollars of my savings; I had sold about thirteen dollars’ worth of books; I had precipitated a fight and met a philosopher.  Not only that, I was dimly beginning to evolve a new philosophy of my own.  And all this in order to prevent Andrew from buying a lot more books!  At any rate, I had been successful in that.  When he had seen Parnassus at last, he had hardly looked at her—­except in tones of scorn.  I caught myself wondering whether the Professor would allude to the incident in his book, and hoping that he would send me a copy.  But after all, why should he mention it?  To him it was only one of a thousand adventures.  As he had said angrily to Andrew, he was nothing to me, nor I to him.  How could he realize that this was the first adventure I had had in the fifteen years I had been—­what was it he called it?—­compiling my anthology.  Well, the funny little gingersnap!

I kept Bock tied to the back of the van, as I was afraid he might take a notion to go in search of his master.  As we jogged on, and the falling sun cast a level light across the way, I got a bit lonely.  This solitary vagabonding business was a bit sudden after fifteen years of home life.  The road lay close to the water and I watched the Sound grow a deeper blue and then a dull purple.  I could hear the surf pounding, and on the end of Long Island a far-away lighthouse showed a ruby spark.  I thought of the little gingersnap roaring toward New York on the express, and wondered whether he was travelling in a Pullman or a day coach.  A Pullman chair would feel easy after that hard Parnassus seat.

By and by we neared a farmhouse which I took to be Mr. Pratt’s.  It stood close to the road, with a big, red barn behind and a gilt weathervane representing a galloping horse.  Curiously enough Peg seemed to recognize the place, for she turned in at the gate and neighed vigorously.  It must have been a favourite stopping place for the Professor.

Through a lighted window I could see people sitting around a table.  Evidently the Pratts were at supper.  I drew up in the yard.  Some one looked out of a window, and I heard a girl’s voice: 

“Why, Pa, here’s Parnassus!”

Gingersnap must have been a welcome visitor at that farm, for in an instant the whole family turned out with a great scraping of chairs and clatter of dishes.  A tall, sunburnt man, in a clean shirt with no collar, led the group, and then came a stout woman about my own build, and a hired man and three children.