. It was only after nearly an hour's
work that Everard at last managed to get the business finished. The
family, warm and excited, packed once more into the car.

"Well, I hope we shall have no more troubles now!" exclaimed Lilias, who
was growing tired and longing for home and tea. "What's the matter,
Everard?"

"Matter! Why, she won't start, that's all!"

Here was a predicament! Whether the bumping up the rough road had thrown
some delicate piece of mechanism out of gear, or the waiting in the cold
had cooled the engine, it was impossible to say, but nothing that
Everard could do would induce the car to start. He examined everything
which his rather limited knowledge of motorology suggested might be the
cause of the stoppage, but with no result. After half an hour's
tinkering, he was obliged ruefully to acknowledge himself utterly
baffled.

They were indeed in an extremely awkward situation, stranded on a wild
moor, probably sixty miles from home, and with the short winter's day
closing rapidly in.

"What _are_ we to do?" gasped Lilias, half-crying.

"We can't stay here all night!"

"Finish our prog and sleep in the car," suggested Roland.

"No, no! We should be frozen before morning."

"I think we'd better walk on while it's light enough to see," said
Everard. "We shall probably strike a highroad soon, and we'll stop some
motorist, ask for a lift to the nearest town, and stay all night at a
hotel."

"But what about the car?"

"We must just leave her to her fate. There's nothing else for it. I
don't suppose anybody will touch her up here. It can't be helped, any
way."

"Let's finish our prog before we set off!" persisted Roland, opening the
picnic basket.

The family was hungry again, so they readily set to work to dispose of
the remains of their lunch. It might be a long time before they were
within reach of their next meal, and they blessed Cook for having packed
a plentiful supply. Everard would not let them linger for more than a
few minutes.

"Hurry up, you kids!" he urged. "We don't know how far we may have to
go, and it will be getting dark soon. Thank goodness we shall be
walking down hill, at any rate."

[Illustration: "WHAT _ARE_ WE TO DO!" GASPED LILIAS]

After whisking along in the car, "Shanks's pony" seemed a very slow mode
of progress; their breakdown had happened in an out-of-the-way spot, and
it was more than an hour before they reached a highroad. It was almost
dark by that tim