I knew the Cauthorns, sort of. I vaguely remember Alex and his three sisters. My father farmed their land for many years, and we rode horses through their farm to reach trails down to Ellicott City and beyond. The water that rose from a natural spring up into the spring house below the barn had the most delicious taste – or perhaps it tasted so good from working hard in the hay fields on hot summer days. I remember the sisters, Helen and Margaret, and their grand, tall thoroughbreds, watching them set out as if to ride a hunt. Elegant ladies, or so they seemed, to one so young as I was. Their farm was up on Arrington Road, between Sykesville and Marriottsville. I often daydreamed of what it was like inside their grand home. I never did see myself, unless it was when i was very, very young. Before I reached my teens, my father was no longer farming their land, and the ladies no longer rode. I never knew them to not be old, and mysterious, and always, elegant.