On rare occasions, high adventure in the form of a trip downtown beckoned. Dull and drab enough in its way, the day was always to be endured for the sake of its climax. Then, tired after endless hours of shopping, led by the hand, I was conducted into the heart of a large department store and seated upon a chair whose fragile legs of twisted wire seemed to be made of some magical substance. For no sooner had I been seated upon it, drawn a breath and turned to glance around, than all weariness slipped away.

Here blossomed an interior fairyland in which the senses might revel. Ears listened to the musical dripping and splashing of a huge center fountain whose myriad fine jets, illuminated by sparkling lights, played out in all directions and sprinkled the ferns planted around.

Encircling the ferns, a great circular counter displayed unbelievable amounts of candy upon which eyes might feast and mind speculate while the sweet, tart and creamy flavor of a strawberry soda quenched one's thirst.

As if this were not enough stimulation, the walls of this glittering spot offered still another thrill. For they had been fashioned of tall metal shafts in which, trapped in open-work gilded cages, like animals in a zoo, solemn groups of humanity rose and descended precariously, in response to the pull of slow-moving cables, and much to the fascinated delight of those safely sipping refreshments below. (No wonder the slogan, "Meet me at the fountain!") Truly, it was too much! Heavy lids began to droop; my head to nod, my shoulder to ache for the softness of my own little pillow at home.

Departure

Then came years when mid-June found us requesting Adams Express Company to call for luggage and deliver it to Westhampton. Several well-to-do customers had houses on the ocean front there or in towns nearby. The dressmaking trade followed.

Our summer dwelling was not in the fashionable section but about a mile inland from the shore. An elderly couple rented us their furnished farmhouse and moved, for the summer, into an older homestead on the same large property. Advantages derived from this triangular arrangement were not to be denied. For us, there was a continued source of income and a summer in the country; for the customers, the close proximity of Aunt Mary's skillful hands.

What a to-do of preparation took place! Trunk after trunk was filled with linens and clothes, the overflow being packed into a huge straw hamper, its lid bound tight with ropes. Windows were closed; awnings lowered and tied, so that metal frames would not puncture panes nor cloth rip.

Just before the apartment was left in semi-darkness with padlocked doors, at the very last moment, the birdcage was lifted from its bracket and protected with a dark cloth to shield the sensitive little inmate from the terrors of the journey. How thoroughly dismayed was Molly the cat by all this confusion in her usually tranquil world! How shattered her feline dignity when hastily lifted by the scruff of the neck and stuffed into a hat box punctured with air holes. Nor could the affront be easily dismissed because the box contained a bit of meat and marrow bone for consolation in her seclusion.

Last minute pick-ups and lunch were wrapped; a collection of umbrellas tied together. This assortment of possessions was then distributed among the members of the family. Finally—we were ready to leave!

A trolley approached gaily down the avenue, lurching from side to side. The motorman twirled the metal handle of his controls with finesse born of long experience. His world was rosy; the coast was clear. He whistled his favorite tune. A sudden frown appeared, a furrow deepening between his eyes; the ditty ended on a high, unfinished note. Our party had been spotted. The trolley slowed and came grudgingly to a halt. If it was to continue on its way, there was nothing for the motorman and conductor to do but assist in hoisting aboard our group of four, with its bundles and live-stock.

After our arrival at Pennsylvania station, there was much nervous checking of tickets, timetables, etc. and numerous trips to the water fountain before we finally struggled through the opened gates and down the ramp to sink at last onto the red plush cushions of a waiting train. With many a groan and heave, the family tree had been uprooted for transplanting to another soil.

Certainly a summer on Long Island could not warrant such magnitude of preparation. Central Africa or the mountains of Tibet must be the fitting destination!

Arrival

Before seven that evening, the conductor walking through the cars announced "Westhampton! Westhampton!" The brakes uttered a little screech; the coaches shuddered. A footstool placed beneath the lowest step helped us to alight.

Backed against the platform were several carriages, their lamps already lighted. One or two cumbersome autos of early vintage stood awkwardly nearby. The public coach with luggage rack on top and drawn by two horses waited for those passengers who would not be met by private conveyance. Walking towards us, his rough, brown hand extended, a suit coat covering his work shirt and overalls out of respect for our arrival, came Mr. R.. The welcome in his bright blue eyes he did not need to voice.

The train had more important business to attend to and would not be bothered by these trifles. With a shrill whistle and a few snorts it waved its plume of gray and salmon-colored smoke and disappeared around the bend. It would return for us in the fall.

The autos had lumbered off; the last of the carriages was following in clouds of dust. We looked around. This was, indeed, a different world, and one less ancient and less worn. Across the nearby fields a counterpane of daisies had been thrown. Neither day nor night could claim the moment for its own, and silence was a part of everything.

Jed the horse, his mind on oats and hay, stamped impatiently and neighed. We filled the carriage to capacity. The reins were lightly slapped across his haunches; the harness strained, the carriage creaked and moved. Our way led over fields and through the woods where hazel branches reached in to touch us on the arm. At the cemetery gate, tall cypresses eyed our passing with suspicion while they stood guarding ancient tombstones sagging and awry. Wheels ground the sandy soil. Jed trotted on. Long shadows stretched across the pond and crickets chanted in the lonely evening.

How friendly was the news of ten long months concisely reported as we rode! The winter had been long and hard. Old Mr. Smith had passed away in March. The Browns' son was home from his first year at college. Our garden was all planted. Mary Ann had eloped with the grocery boy. There was a new dog on the farm this year.

Jed felt the load heavy as he brought us over the crest of the hill onto Old Country Road. There was the hedge still framing the low, white farmhouse; lights shone from the windows, the smoke of a wood fire rising from the chimney. Beneath the grape arbor, her old face creased into a thousand lines of joy, her arms outstretched to greet us, stood "Aunt" Ida.

What a furious barking and jumping took place! Gyp, the new water spaniel, resented these strangers, while Rod circled the carriage waving his tail at the smell of old friends. Tommy Cat sat in his favorite spot atop the covered rain barrel, as though he had not left it since September. His plume-like tail swayed gently while he carelessly scrubbed his whiskers with his paw. Now he stopped, paw arrested in mid-air, eyes cool with recognition as Molly jumped from her hat box and stretched luxuriously before him. Roddie, too, brushed gallantly against her to renew last summer's friendship. But Gyp had to be chastised for ungentlemanly snarls.

The oak tree spread its arms above; the night chill deepened as we stood outside the kitchen door. Here we belonged. This was our "second home".