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the minister’s house to rest and decide what to do.
    The minister’s wife was surprised to see us but very hospitable. “Why of course you’ll stay here,” she said when she had heard the story. “And after supper, Will can take you out to your place. I’m sure your horse must have gone on home.”
    We were glad she had mentioned supper. The thought of the long ride home with nothing to eat was not a pleasant one for us children. The women began to prepare the meal, and Pa and the minister discussed our problem. There was never any thought that Nellie had been stolen. People just did not steal horses and buggies in our little town. Perhaps some mischievous boys had untied the horse, but even that didn’t seem likely with people around all the time.
    There seemed to be no more to do about it that night, so after supper the minister hitched up his buggy, and we got in for our trip home. It was dark by that time, and only a few people were left on the street. Light shone from the blacksmith’s shop, however, and as we approached it, Roy called out, “Look, Pa! There’s Nellie, right where we left her!”
    The minister stopped the horse, and Pa jumped down. Sure enough, Nellie and the buggy were sitting in the same spot where they had left them. Pa walked around and looked at the horse in disbelief. Nellie looked back at him as if to say, “Well, where have you been? Don’t you know it’s dark?”
    By this time, the rest of us were gathered around. The lunch still sat in the buggy, untouched. We were too astonished to speak.
    Finally Pa said, “I guess we might as well go home. She’s not going to tell us where she’s been.”
    He thanked the minister for his help, and we climbed into our own buggy. The trip home was spent trying to find a reasonable explanation for what had happened. We could think of none. Pa was just glad to have the horse and buggy back and be on the way home.
    Saturday morning we were still talking about the mystery when our neighbor Ed Hobbs drove into the yard. Pa went out to meet him and invited him in to breakfast.
    “Thanks,” said Ed, “but I’ve already eaten. I just came to tell you folks what happened yesterday.”
    He sat down at the table and told us the story.
    “I was pretty busy yesterday,” he said, “and I had a broken plow that needed to be fixed. I couldn’t spare my boy to take it into town, so Grandpa said he’d do it for me. Grandpa’s getting pretty old and doesn’t see very well, but I thought he could probably make it to the blacksmith’s shop all right, so I loaded the plow in the buggy, and Grandpa started out.
    “It wasn’t until early evening, long after Grandpa had returned, that I noticed a strange horse in the barn. Then I saw the buggy out beside the shed. I went into the house to see who was visiting. Grandpa was dozing by the fire, and there was no one else in the kitchen but the family.
    “‘Grandpa,’ I said, ‘whose horse is that in the barn?’
    “‘Why, it’s our horse, naturally,’ said Grandpa. ‘Whose did you think it was?’
    “‘That’s not our horse, Grandpa,’ I said. ‘It looks like Brother O’Dell’s horse and buggy to me.’
    “‘Brother O’Dell?’ said Grandpa. ‘Is Brother O’Dell here? Why didn’t he come in and sit a spell?’
    “‘No, Grandpa,’ I replied. ‘Brother O’Dell isn’t here. I think you brought his horse and buggy home.’
    “‘Now why would I do a thing like that?’ asked Grandpa indignantly. ‘I wasn’t anywhere near the O’Dells’ place today!’
    “I gave up on Grandpa,” said Ed. “I hitched up your horse and drove it into town. There was our horse and buggy, right in front of the blacksmith’s shop. The blacksmith said you had been looking for your horse, but he didn’t know where you had gone, so I tied her up and came on home. I figured I’d come and tell you about it first thing this morning. I’m sorry about Grandpa. I won’t send him on any more errands into