ten miles an hour, the car
stopped, and would have run back if Rattray hadn't put on the brakes.
"What's the matter?" said I, while Aunt Mary convulsively clutched my
arm.

"Only a belt broken, miss," he returned gloomily. "Means twenty minutes'
delay, that's all. Sorry I must trouble you ladies to get up. New belts
and belt-fasteners under your seat. Tools under the floor."

We were relieved to think it was no worse, and reminded ourselves that
we had much to be thankful for, while we disarranged our comfortably
established selves. There were the tea-basket and the foot-warmers to be
lifted from the floor and deposited on Rattray's vacant front seat, the
big rug to be got rid of, our feet to be put up while the floor-board
was lifted, then we had to stand while the cushions were pulled off the
seat and the lid of the box raised. We, or at least I, tried to think it
was part of the fun; but it was a _little_ depressing to hear Rattray
grunting and grumbling to himself as he unstrapped the luggage, hoisted
it off the back of the car so that he could get at the broken belt
inside, and plumped it down viciously on the dusty road.

The delay was nearer half an hour than twenty minutes, and it seemed
extra long because it was a strain entertaining Aunt Mary to keep her
from saying "I told you so!" But we had not gone two miles before our
little annoyance was forgotten. That is the queer part about
automobiling. You're so happy when all's going well that you forget
past misadventures, and feel joyously hopeful that you will never have
any more.

We got on all right until after lunch, which we ate at a lovely inn
close to George Meredith's house. Then it took half an hour to start the
car again. Rattray looked as if he were going to burst. Just to watch
him turning that handle in vain made me feel as if elephants had walked
over me. He said the trouble was that "the compression was too strong,"
and that there was "back-firing"--whatever that means. Just as I was
giving up hope the engine started off with a rush, and we were on the
way again through the most soothingly pretty country. About four
o'clock, in the midst of a glorious spin, there was a "r-r-r-tch," the
car swerved to one side, Aunt Mary screamed, and we stopped dead. "Chain
broken," snarled Rattray.

Up we had to jump once more: tea-basket, foot-warmers, rugs, ourselves,
everything had to be hustled out of the way for Rattray to get at the
tools and spare ch