But it was long before we reached an inn, for I lost my way! This time it was not Ruth's fault. She was probably so shaken that she could not see the way; at any rate she gave me the wrong road, and we wandered over the hills until we were nearly distracted. When we reached Ross late at night you may believe neither of us had much appetite for the greasy supper which was set before us. Suddenly, without a word of warning, Ruth put her head down on the table and burst into tears! It was so unlike her that I was dreadfully frightened. I got her to bed and put a hot-water bottle to her feet, and sat by her till she was more quiet, and then went outside in the rain to smoke a pipe, and "represent myself to myself." When I had flagellated myself for all my ill temper, and returned thanks for the mercies of the day, I too went to bed, but not to sleep for many an hour. When at last I did fall asleep, it was only to dream of a huge dog, rushing down a railroad track, whistling like a locomotive and breathing streams of fire from his mouth. It doesn't take a Freud to interpret that dream! In spite of my troubled night, or perhaps in consequence of it, I woke early. The sun was streaming into my bedroom as if to say: "Sluggard, arise. I was only fooling yesterday when I pretended that Ireland had a rainy climate. To-day is like Italy, and even the dirty streets of Ross are beautiful!" My mind was quickly made up, and as soon as I was dressed I made my way to the station and found that I could ship the motor to Dublin on a flat car and that it would be delivered to us there the next morning. So I returned to the garage and drove to the station, feeling not unlike Tartarin, when he sold the _chameau_ for a ticket in the diligence, which, Daudet remarks, is not a bad use to make of a camel! Ruth was more relieved, I am sure, than she cared to show, when she learned that she might have a quiet morning in bed and take the train for Dublin in the afternoon. As we entered the dining-room of the Shelburne that evening, whom should we meet but the Hodges? This was a joy to Ruth, who, I knew, would find rest in telling her story to her sympathetic friend Anne, and a satisfaction to me, for I knew there was nothing about motors hid from her husband, the professor. Indeed, it was he who had advised me to buy a Frontenac, though he himself is "a man who owns one," and was driving his big Packard, with comfort and pride. When he had recovered from his hilarity over my experiences, he said that next morning we would look over the car and find the trouble with the self-starter, while Ruth and Anne were shopping for linen and laces. The car was ready for us when we arrived at the Goods station, next morning, and we drove to the garage for a consultation.