wo weeks, or even ten days. Then
I can let you have what you like."

* * * * *

"How shall we divide our party for the motor ride, Ruth?" asked Harriet
Hamlin about two o'clock on the afternoon of the same day.

Ruth's red car was standing in front of Mr. Hamlin's door with another
larger one belonging to Harriet's friend, Charlie Meyers, waiting
behind it.

The automobile party stood out on the side walk and Peter Dillon had
somehow managed to be one of them.

"Suppose, Barbara, Grace and Hugh Post go along with me, Harriet?" Ruth
proposed. "Mr. Meyers' car is larger than mine. He can take the rest of
the party."

"What a division!" protested Peter Dillon, as he climbed into Ruth's
automobile and took his seat next Bab. "Do you suppose, for one instant,
that we are going to see Hugh Post drive off, the only man among three
girls? Not if I can help it!"

The two automobiles traveled swiftly through Washington allowing the four
"Automobile Girls" only tantalizing glimpses of the executive buildings
which they passed on the way.

In about an hour the cars covered the sixteen miles that lay between the
Capital City and the home of its first President.

Such a deep and abiding tranquillity pervaded the atmosphere of Mt.
Vernon that the noisy chatter of the young people was, for an instant,
hushed into silence, as they drove through the great iron gates at the
entrance to Mt. Vernon, and on up the elm-shaded lawn to the house.

Although it was December, the fall had been unusually warm and the trees
were not yet bare of their autumn foliage; the grass still looked smooth
and green under foot.

The "Automobile Girls" held their breath as their eyes rested on the most
famous historic home in America.

"Oh, Ruth!" exclaimed Bab. But when she saw Peter's eyes smiling at her
enthusiasm she stopped and would not say another word.

Of course, Mt. Vernon was an old story to Mrs. Wilson, to Harriet, and
indeed to the entire party, except the four girls. But they wished to see
every detail of the Washington house. They went into the wide hall and
there beheld the key to the Bastile presented by Lafayette to General
Washington. They examined the music room, with its queer, old-fashioned
musical instruments; went up to Martha Washington's bedroom and even
looked upon the white-canopied bed where George Washington died. Indeed,
they wandered from garret to cellar in the old house. But it was