the other side lay the pretty, open fields, with their bunches of corn stalks, and their low, irregular fences. It was a favorite drive, but footpath there was none, so Kob and Bess were forced to wander along the middle of the road, turning aside occasionally to let a carriage pass them, while Fuzz barked defiance at its occupants.
"Cousin Bess," asked Rob, "you know when birds fly south in winter, they go straight; how do you s'pose they know the way?"
"I don't know, I am sure, Rob. Perhaps they remember from year to year."
"I don't believe they do. How fast do you suppose they fly? I’ve watched them lots of times, and they go so fast— Here, Fuzz!" as the dog made a dash towards a dignified goat that was lunching on a dead blackberry vine by the wayside.
"Sha'n't I lead him, Rob? He must tire you."
"Not a bit. He's strong, though. How much could he pull, I wonder? My teacher told me the other day that no animal could pull
