short by the sound of a motor in the distance.

"Hark!" cried Mollie, a dramatic hand raised to a listening ear. "Do I
hear the approach of an angel?"

"If you do, he has a pretty earthly means of transportation," laughed
Betty. "To me, it sounds like a machine or a motorcycle."

"How can you?" cried Mollie, still dramatically poised. "It is an angel,
I tell you, come to help us out of our predicament."

"It is a motorcycle," cried Amy excitedly. "The engine is making too
much noise for an automobile."

"Well," suggested Mrs. Ford quietly, "whoever it is, I think it might be
a good idea to get out of the middle of the road."

"But if we do," Grace protested, "he'll go right past us."

"And if we don't we'll get run over," added Mrs. Ford.

The girls looked at each other helplessly.

"I tell you," cried Betty suddenly, her eyes sparkling with a new idea.
"Give me that old red rag we use for a duster, Mollie, and I'll go and
signal your angel."

"Betty, you'll do no such thing," cried Amy, shocked, while Mollie dug
under the seat for the improvised signal flag. "Think of signaling a
strange man!"

"But you forget he's an angel in disguise," laughed Betty, snatching the
dust cloth Mollie held out to her. "Anyway," she added, over her
shoulder, "desperate cases require desperate remedies," and was off
round the turn of the road.

There wasn't much time to spare either, for when she had clambered up on
a rock by the side of the road, the motorcyclist was only a few hundred
feet away.

At the unexpected sight of a red rag wildly waved by a very graceful
little figure in a gray traveling suit, he looked surprised but promptly
put on his brakes. He leapt from his machine and came running toward her
while Betty descended from her perch just in time to meet him at the
foot of the rock.

"Is there anything the matter?" he asked, in a nice voice that Betty
immediately liked. In fact, she liked nearly everything about him, from
his sunburned face and merry blue eyes to his trim leather boots and
puttees. So she gave him a friendly little smile that showed all her
dimples, much to his secret admiration.

"Why, yes, there is," she answered, adding with a chuckle: "If there
hadn't been, I shouldn't have been perched on that old rock, waving a
ridiculous red dust rag!"

Then, as they made their way around the turn in the road toward the car
where Mrs. Ford and the girls were waiting for them, she explained the
situ