"Shall we put it in our usual post office?" she asked, then dropped it into the fire. She understood Merle, who loved to relieve her feelings by writing violent letters, which fortunately never reached the people to whom they were directed. It was merely a form of letting off steam, and did nobody any harm. Mavis always took care, though, to make sure that the epistles were safely consigned to the flames. She had pulled Merle out of many scrapes, and knew just how to manage her hot-tempered sister. "Opal's simply not worth thinking about," she consoled. "Let's forget this business. Uncle David says he's going to pay a visit at a farm on the moor this afternoon, and if we'll scurry home quick from school at four, he'll wait for us and take us with him." "Oh, Jubilate!" rejoiced Merle, recovering her good spirits. "What fun! I was just pining for a jaunt in the car. Go? I should think we will, rather! We'll fly the very second Mademoiselle lets us off. Thank goodness, it will be something decent to think about all the afternoon. Opal Earnshaw may go to Hong-Kong if she likes. I don't care about her and her meannesses. We're wangling a drive with Uncle David. Cock-a-doodle-do!" Merle got through her music lesson with moderate success, and did her drawing with tolerable correctness, so, except for a lost button and breaking the hinge off her pencil-box, she had no more conspicuous mishaps. She nearly undid herself by catching up her drawing-board and rising to go the moment the clock began to strike four, which caused a glare from Mademoiselle, who added: "Sit down till I dismiss the class. If you go too soon I shall make you stay behind all the others and wait." [Illustration: "HERE WE ARE AT CROSS NUMBER TWO" _Page 163_] Much terrified lest the teacher should keep her threat, Merle popped back into her place, and filed out in orderly fashion behind Maude Carey, fuming that the latter's movements were so dilatory and slow. She and Mavis hurried home almost at a run. After all they need not have been in such fearful haste, for they found Uncle David and Tom busy in the yard putting the spare wheel on the car. "Just had a puncture," explained Dr. Tremayne. "A nasty bit of broken glass in the High Street. Fortunately I was almost home. No, Tom, I haven't time to stay now while you mend it. I must get off to see old Mr. Tracy at once. We must just trust the spare wheel won't puncture, that's all. People ought to be prosecuted for leaving broken glass about to cut tyres. It's a dastardly trick to play on motorists. If I were a magistrate I'd fine them for it. The amount of time I waste over punctures is perfectly disgusting."