ill cause us to
forget the trials that pursue the tyres of a motor car."

The following day, at nine o'clock, the big "Layton" car, resplendent in
a recent coat of paint, well shod, and perfectly equipped, started from
the house on the long journey to Millerton. Denis Quirk was at the
wheel, the chauffeur beside him. In the tonneau Molly Healy and Desmond
O'Connor kept up a crossfire of good-humoured raillery, while Kathleen
sat between them, smiling at their jests. It was a bright, sunny day,
with a gentle breeze blowing from the south; the roads were smooth, and
the motor throbbed along throwing the miles behind her, and the dust in
the faces of those whom they passed on their way.

"A brief epitome of this Commonwealth," said Denis Quirk, with a wave of
his hand as they were running through a vast, untenanted domain,
protected on either side by rows of dark green pines. "Neglected
opportunities! Land that should be supporting one hundred families
wasted on one man."

Again they were hurrying between cultivated farms and farm houses,
widely scattered, but sufficiently near to one another to represent
civilisation. Double-fronted wooden houses were dotted here and there,
single-storied, each with its wide verandah, a small garden, and
possibly a row of pine trees to guard them from the wind. Behind them
each had its row of wooden outbuildings, large haystacks, and sleek
cattle feeding on green meadow-land.

"The proof of what we can do--given the one necessary thing, man. Lord!
how the Japs must gnash their teeth when they think of the prize out
here in the lone Pacific! When I am a politician----."

"Why not now?" Desmond asked. "Go forth and preach your new crusade. You
can't begin too soon."

"I object to his preaching it in a car. Motors were never made for
moralising. There's a feeling, in riding in a car, that makes a person
lazy and contented," cried Molly Healy.

"Until something goes wrong with the car," suggested Desmond.
"Then----."

"I have heard them in difficulties, and my ears are still tingling and
my conscience burning me for the language they used," said Molly Healy.

"It's no use carrying other men's sins on your conscience. Haven't you
sufficient of your own?" asked Desmond.

"That is between me and my confessor, Desmond. But if I don't carry
these men's crimes no one will trouble about them, for they don't seem
to think it a sin to swear at a motor, although they call the thing
'she.'"