"There aren't many automobiles go this way; but Mr. Hiram Lardner, that keeps the blacksmith shop, has got a sign out, 'Autos Repaired,' and you can buy gasoline at Mr. Albert Sprague's store." "Where's that?" asked the man. "At the Corners. You know, Mr. Albert Sprague; the storekeeper. His father, Mr. Jackson Sprague, is the oldest inhabitant." "Ha!" laughed the dark man shortly. "I've read of him in the papers then." "Oh, yes," Carolyn said placidly. "And maybe you saw his picture, too. He took ten bottles of Wormwood Bitters and they cured him." "What of?" chuckled the man. "Cured him of being the oldest inhabitant?" "Oh, no, sir. I guess he's always been that, for he looks dreadfully old. But the bitters cured him of whatever it was ailed him. He didn't say just what it was. You know: 'Doctors were of no avail, and he gave up hope at the early age of sixty-two. But at eighty-seven he is still hale and hearty and lays his wonderful preservation exclusively to Wormwood Bitters. Copyright.' He let me read the article once, that he had cut out of the Wormwood Farmers' Almanac." The dark man was grinning widely by this time--and he was not used much to smiling, it was evident. He said: "You young ones jump on the runningboard--and hang on--and show Ren where to drive to this blacksmith who can repair automobiles." "Oh, you can't miss of it!" blurted out Amos Bartlett. But Freda smacked her palm over his mouth in a hurry. "Hush, you!" she ordered in a fierce whisper. "Don't you want to ride on that shiny thing?" The three stepped up and clung to the machine. They would have been doubly delighted, especially the little girls, to have ridden in the tonneau, the upholstery of which was all shrouded with linen covers. But the dark man did not offer them this superlative pleasure. The big car started, and Prince, who had been sitting on his tail with his tongue lolling out, started likewise and ran, barking, beside the automobile. The road was rough and the car bumped up and down a good deal; but René did not drive fast, although the children thought it a very exciting ride indeed. In five minutes they reached the Corners. As the big car came to a halt, Mr. Lardner, in leather apron and with his shoeing hammer in his hand, came to the door of his shop, deep within which the forge fire glowed like an unwinking eye. "Oh, Mr. Lardner!" cried Carolyn May, "we brought you a customer." "Much obleeged to you, Car'lyn May," the blacksmith said, smiling, and then gave his attention to René and the matter the chauffeur wished attended to. Amos remained to gape at the car, at its occupants, and at the blacksmith repairing it. But the two little girls walked away. "My!" sighed Freda Payne, "I don't see how you can talk to folks as you do, Car'lyn May. I'm just tongue-tied when I see strangers. You certainly have got the gift of gab!"