nd finally Torquay. As
the young people had no ideas of their own upon the subject and as
they had vast confidence in anything Mrs. Pitt proposed, this plan was
at once adopted.

"These places are all by the sea," Mrs. Pitt continued, "and I'm quite
sure you'll like them. Torquay is just a watering-place, with big
hotels, terraces, and gardens, but oh! it is so lovely, and nearby is
the duckiest little village of Cockington! You'll never leave the
thatched cottages there, Betty! Lynmouth is very fine, with its
combination of mountain and seaside views, and its moors. Close by is
the Doone Valley, which figures so prominently in the story of 'Lorna
Doone,' and we'll visit that. It will all be beautiful--beautiful as
only England and Devonshire can be--but you'll find nothing at all
like this strange little Clovelly, so enjoy it while you may!"

[Illustration: "YOU'LL FIND NOTHING AT ALL LIKE THIS STRANGE LITTLE
CLOVELLY."--_Page 250._]

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ROCHESTER AND CANTERBURY

As soon as the familiar chugging of the motor was heard at the front
door in Cavendish Square, John hurried out. Just as he was examining
all the chauffeur's arrangements for the trip, and looking with
approval over the entire automobile, the whir of the engine suddenly
gasped, struggled to catch its breath, and then ceased altogether. The
chauffeur, perfectly unconcerned, swung himself off from his seat and
sauntered around to "crank her up," but his expression of assurance
soon changed, for the motor refused to start.

John's face was pitiful to see. "Oh, bother!" he cried, running to
where the chauffeur stood, in front of the hood. "Why has it got to go
and spoil it all like that! It's mean, I say! Can't you fix her?
What's wrong?"

Off came the chauffeur's nicely-brushed coat, his clean hands handled
oily tools, and a big streak of grease soon appeared upon his
trousers. Great was his humiliation! After about fifteen minutes of
disagreeable work, all was well, however,--the engine started, and the
sound was again smooth and steady. John's expression was radiant, and
he came to help the ladies in, while the forlorn chauffeur retired to
make himself presentable.

"Now, we're off for Canterbury!" John announced triumphantly, as they
at last glided around a corner into Piccadilly.

Slowly and carefully they wended their way down to London Bridge,
crossed, and stopped for a moment before the site of the old Tabard
Inn.

"I