ensated as this is."

"I am quite serious, Mr. Fraser."

"I am equally so, Miss Herron."

A moment they regarded one another in silence. "I am inclined to offer
you some assistance, I think," the old lady announced, deliberately.
"Merely out of common humanity. I have read that the drivers of
automobiles often depend on friendly or highly paid wagoners to--to
tow them. Now----"

Archibald drowned the rest in thankful protestations. And----

"It would be awfully kind of you, Cousin Agatha," said little Lucy,
suddenly finding her voice. "I'm sure that Archie----"

"Eh?"

"It would be very nice indeed," the child contrived to say, and tried
to look unconscious.

"If you could help me a little," explained Archibald, and his own
cheeks flamed, though his eyes faltered not a bit. "The break isn't
very serious, I guess."

A second time Miss Herron considered in silence. She turned
deliberately and looked at Lucy, who returned her questioning glance
with a stare of babylike innocence; her gray eyes interrogated the
boy.

"If you can assure me that your machine can't go," said Miss Herron,
"I'll tow you."

For a brief second Archibald hesitated. Then he fumbled among the
levers; raised the hood again; returned to the driver's seat, and
fingered at something the ladies could not see. "She can't be moved,"
the boy reported.

From the fence along the roadside a loosened rail was wrenched; an
honest cow, picketed at pasture, had her tether shortened a dozen feet
in two strokes of the boy's knife. In five minutes more, amid many
warnings from Miss Herron against scratching the varnish, one end of
the rail was made fast to the rear axle of the carriage, and the other
to the automobile.

"Now jump in," ordered Lucy, radiant with smiles; and she pointed to
the back seat.

"Mr. Fraser," her cousin amended, calmly, "will continue in his
automobile. To--to steer, if necessary."

"But----"

"I should prefer it, if you please." The horses strained forward, the
wheels turned; the triumphal procession was under way. "My dear," said
Miss Herron, "will you be good enough to hold your parasol over me?
The sun is very uncomfortable."

All the way home, the length of Barham Street, where the people stared
and laughed, young Fraser repeated all the maledictions he could
remember or invent. For the dust choked him, and the view of Lucy's
back as she sat holding the parasol over her cousin did not cheer.

"I'll get even--oh,