e was excavating me, and
almost before I knew what had swallowed me up I was emerging from green
and pink billows of clover, laughing, gasping, half-dazed, but wholly
delighted. "You're not drowned?" he asked quickly.

"No, I can swim," I answered, and set myself promptly to help him and
Sir Ralph rescue Beechy and Aunt Kathryn, which was rather like looking
for needles in a haystack.

By the time we had all got our breath and wiped the clover out of our
eyes, horse and cart had vanished comet-like into the horizon, leaving a
green trail behind. We bailed out the car and started gaily on once
more, but presently our speed slackened. Without a sigh the automobile
stopped precisely in the middle of the road, and gently, though firmly,
refused to go on again.

When Mr. Barrymore saw that this was more than a passing whim, he called
Sir Ralph to the rescue, Beechy and I jumped out, and the car was pushed
to one side. Then, with all of us standing round, he proceeded to search
for the mischief. Apparently nothing was wrong. The engine was cool;
the pump generously inclined, and fat yellow fireflies flew out of the
sparking-plugs when they were tested. Then Mr. Barrymore remembered the
cause of the Prince's first accident, and looked at the carburetter; but
there was not so much as a speck of dust. For a while he continued to
poke, and prod, and hammer, Sir Ralph offering humorous advice, and
pretending to be sure that, if his housekeeper Felicite were on the
spot, the car would start for her in an instant. The mystery only
thickened, however, and to make matters worse the Prince, who had been
proudly spinning on ahead, came tearing back to see what had happened.
Though he pretended to be sympathetic, he was visibly overjoyed at our
misfortune, which turned the tables upon us for once, and his
suggestions were enough to wreck the valvular system of a motor-car; not
to mention the nervous system of a distracted chauffeur.

"Perhaps the petrol's dead," said Mr. Barrymore, paying no heed to the
Prince's ideas. He opened a new tin and was about to empty its contents
into the reservoir, when he uttered an exclamation. "By Jove! Just look
at that, Miss Destrey!" he said; and I couldn't help feeling flattered
that he should appeal to me on a subject I didn't know anything about.

He was peering at the small round air-hole leading down to the
reservoir, so I peered too, and in spite of my ignorance I saw what he
meant. The hole