a remark, but
apparently changed his mind, and walked away.

"He's almost _too_ well trained!" commented Mrs. Rogers. "Of course a
conversational chauffeur is a nuisance, but I have an impression that
Johnson could be quite interesting if he liked. Some day I shall try to
make him talk."

"Better leave him alone," said Major Rogers. "I think things do very
well as they are."

From Glastonbury they motored through the beautiful county of Somerset
into leafy Devonshire, taking easy stages so as not to overtire the
invalid, and halting at any place where the guide book pointed out
objects worthy of notice. To please Carmel, they were making in the
direction of Tivermouth, where they hoped to arrive in time to meet the
Ingletons. They had telegraphed for rooms at the Hill Crest Hotel, and,
if the place suited Major Rogers, they proposed to spend a week there.

"There may be perhaps a dance, or a tennis tournament, or something
interesting going on!" exulted Sheila, who had urged the decision. "At
any rate there'll be somebody to talk to in a decent hotel--it won't be
just all scenery! Let us spin along, Dad, and get there!"

"Hurry no man's cattle!" replied her father. "Remember, I am out for a
'rabbit' holiday, and I like long rests by the roadside. I'm looking
forward to a siesta on the grass somewhere this afternoon. The scent of
the woods does me good."

So once more the party found a picturesque spot and stopped for lunch
and an hour or two of quiet under the trees before they took again to
the open road. The spot which they chose this time was on a slope
reaching down to a river. Above was a thick belt of pines, and below the
water dashed with a pleasant murmuring sound very soothing on a warm
afternoon. It was an ideal "rabbit playground" for Major Rogers, and he
established himself comfortably with rugs and cushions after lunch,
hoping to be able to snatch some much-needed sleep. Mrs. Rogers took her
knitting from her hand-bag, and Sheila, who had a voluminous
correspondence, asked Johnson for her dispatch case and began to write
letters.

As Carmel had nothing very particular to do, and grew tired of sitting
still, she rose presently and rambled down the wood to the river-side.
It was beautiful to stand and watch the water swirling by, to gaze at
the meadow on the opposite bank, and to amuse herself by throwing little
sticks into the hurrying current. There was an old split tree-trunk that
overhung the ba