me at what we
call the cross roads."

"Oh, I'll get you back," he protested.

From the moment they were headed for the school she talked feverishly,
and thought wildly. How could she keep him from going to Hill Top? They
had some trouble with the engine and while Wally tinkered with it, she
sat with her eyes screwed shut, praying that something would happen to
save her face.

"No extra tires and a balky engine. I'll bounce that mechanic when I get
back," he grumbled, as they started off again.

The short spring day was beginning to fade, when Isabelle laid her hand
on his arm.

"This is the cross roads. I get out here," she said.

"I'll run you up," he answered, casually.

"But I'd rather walk, Wally. I need the exercise."

As she was beginning to get out, he had to stop.

"What's the plot?"

"No plot. You'll be terribly late now. It was _sweet_ of you to come,
Wally, and I'm obliged for the party," she said, kissing him, and
dismounting.

"Isabelle, have you murdered anybody?" he asked, gravely.

"Not yet," she replied, equally gravely. Then with a wave and a shouted
good-bye she ran up the hill, and disappeared into the underbrush.

"Well, I'm damned!" grinned her father; and he turned back on his way to
Boston.

Isabelle ran through the woods singing, whistling, praying. "Good Lord,
I thank thee," she said, repeatedly. "You can rely on me not to lie
again." Flushed and relieved from doom, happy as a cricket, she appeared
at the school. She was greeted with howls of rage from the girls.

"Isabelle, you pig! To carry him off without letting us see him."

"How did he look? Is he handsomer than ever?" they chorused.

But Isabelle escaped their catechism. She had been saved once, and she
dared not tamper with fate again. At every thought of Wally, speeding
back to Boston, she drew a deep sigh of relief.

As they were all seated at supper Mr. Benjamin asked:

"Didst thou have a pleasant day with thy father, little girl?"

Ten pairs of envious eyes were upon her.

"Perfect," she sighed.

"Sorry we could not keep him overnight."

The maid entered to speak to Mrs. Benjamin, whereupon she rose and left
the table. Isabelle was enlarging upon the delights of her holiday when
her tongue suddenly clave to the roof of her mouth. She heard a voice
saying:

"Engine wouldn't work--tire punctured."

She prayed violently for a fatal stroke of lightning or paralysis, but
in vain. Mrs. Benjamin entered, f