CHAPTER XV.
The Broken Motor-car.
Out where the trail from Kenmore intersects the one leading from Laurel to and through King's Highway, I passed over a little hill and came suddenly upon a big, dark-gray touring-car stalled in the road.

In it Beryl King sat looking intently down at her toes.

I nearly fell off my horse at the shock of it, and then my blood got to acting funny, so that my head felt queer.

Then I came to, and rode boldly up to her, mentally shaking hands with myself over my good luck.

For it was good luck just to see her, whether anything came of it or not.
"Something wrong with the wheelbarrow ?" I asked her, with a placid superiority.
She looked up with a little start--she never did seem to feel my presence until I spoke to her--and frowned prettily; but whether at me or at the car, I didn't know.
"I guess something must be," she answered quite meekly, for her.