see," began Mr. Carr, laying his hand on the steering-wheel;
"perhaps I can make it go."

"It won't go," she said, a trifle despondently and shaking her charming
head. "I've been here nearly half an hour waiting for it to do something;
but it won't."

Mr. Carr peered wisely into the acetylenes, looked carefully under the
hood, examined the upholstery. He didn't know anything about motors.

"I'm afraid," he said sadly, "that there's something wrong with the
magne-e-to!"

"Do you think it is as bad as that?"

"I fear so," he said gravely. "If I were you I'd get out--and keep well
away from that machine."

"Why?" she asked nervously, stepping to the grass beside him.

"It _might_ blow up."

They backed away rather hastily, side by side. After a while they backed
farther away, hand in hand.

"I--I hate to leave it there all alone," said the maid, when they had
backed completely out of sight of the car. "If there was only some safe
place where I could watch and see if it is going to explode."

They ventured back a little way and peeped at the motor.

"You could take a rowboat and watch it from the water," said Mr. Carr.

"But I don't know how to row."

Mr. Carr looked at her. Certainly she was the most prepossessing specimen
of wholesome, rose-cheeked and ivory-skinned womanhood that he had ever
beheld; a trifle nearer thirty-five than twenty-five, he thought, but so
sweet and fresh and with such charming eyes and manners.

"I have," said Mr. Carr, "several hours at my disposal before I go to
town on important business. If you like I will row you out in one of my
boats, and then, from a safe distance, we can sit and watch your motor
blow up. Shall we?"

"It is most kind of you----"

"Not at all. It would be most kind of you."

She looked sideways at the motor, sideways at the water, sideways at Mr.
Carr.

It was a very lovely morning in early June.

As Mr. Carr handed her into the rowboat with ceremony she swept him a
courtesy. Her apron and manners were charmingly incongruous.

When she was gracefully seated in the stern Mr. Carr turned for a moment,
stared all Oyster Bay calmly in the face through his monocle, then,
untying the painter, fairly skipped into the boat with a step distinctly
frolicsome.

"It's curious how I feel about this," he observed, digging both oars into
the water.

"_How_ do you feel, Mr. Carr?"

"Like a bird," he said softly.

And the boat moved off gently through the s