Although guests are not so prone to make suggestions on the running of the car as are those who, through the safety of family connection, may do so without fear of bodily assault from the driver, nevertheless, a guest may, according to the code, lean over the back of the seat and slip little hints as to the route. Especially if one of them be entrusted with a Blue Book does this form of auto-suggestion become chronic. "It says here that we should have taken that road to the right back there by the Soldiers' Monument," informs the reader over your shoulder. Or-- "Somehow this doesn't seem like the right road. Personally, I think that we ought to turn around and go back to the cross-roads." If it is Mrs. Wife in the tonneau who has her own ideas on the route, you might as well give in at her first suggestion, for the risk that she is right is too great to run. If she says that she would advise taking the lane that runs around behind that school-house, take it. Then, if it turns out to be a blind alley, you have the satisfaction of saying nothing, very eloquently and effectively. But if you refuse to take her suggestion, and your road turns out to be even halfway wrong, you might as well turn the wheel over to your little son and go South for the winter, for you will never hear the ultimate cry of triumph. Your season will practically be ruined. I can quote verbatim from the last affair of this kind: (Voice from the tonneau): "Albert, I think we ought to have taken the road at the left." "No, we hadn't." "I'm sure of it. I saw a sign which said: 'Paxton' on it." "No, you didn't." "Well, you wait and see." "I'm waiting." There is a silence for ten minutes, while the car jounces along a road which gets narrower and rockier. (Voice from the tonneau): "I suppose you think this is the way to Paxton?" "I certainly _do_." "Oh, you make me sick!" Silence and jounces. Sudden stop as the road ends at a silo. "I beg your pardon [addressed to a rustic], which is the road to Paxton?" "Paxton?" "Yes." "The road to Paxton?" "Yes." "Well, you go back over the rud you just come over, about three mile, till you come to a rud turnin' off to the right with a sign which says 'Paxton.'" (Voice from the tonneau, beginning at this point and continuing all of the way back, all the rest of the day and night, and until snow falls): "_There!_ what did I tell you? But, oh no, you know it all. Didn't I tell you"--etc., etc. On the whole, it would seem that the artists who draw the automobile advertisements make a mistake in drawing the tonneau so roomy and so full of people. There should be no tonneau. XVI A ROMANCE IN ENCYCLOPÆDIA LAND _Written After Three Hours' Browsing in a New Britannica Set_ Picture to yourself an early spring afternoon along the banks of the river Aa, which, rising in the Teutoburger Wald, joins the Werre at Herford and is navigable as far as St. Omer.