As there was nothing further to be gained by remaining in Meadville, the
entire party, after lunch, set out once more, a big crowd witnessing the
departure of the aerial tourists.
They flew fast, and as the roads were excellent the auto had no
difficulty in keeping up with them. On through the afternoon they soared
along, sometimes swooping low above an alluring bit of scenery and again
heading their machines skyward in pure exuberance of spirits. Their
troubles at Meadville forgotten, they flew their machines like sportive
birds; never had any of them experienced more fully the joy of flight,
the sense of freedom that comes from traveling untrammeled into the
ether.
They had passed above a small village and were flying low, those in
the auto waving to them, when Peggy, in the _Golden Butterfly_, gave
a sudden exclamation.
"Oh, look," she shouted, "a flock of sheep, and right in the path of
the auto."
At that moment all of them saw the sheep, a large flock, headed by a
belligerent looking ram with immense horns.
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