"I'm glad to see that some one besides myself uses a bit of--I mean an expression that means something--once in a while, Patrick," she said, as she threw in the clutch, after adjusting the lever to low speed. "Yis, miss," answered the man, as he looked with admiration at the trim and pretty figure in the little car. "Now I wonder what did she mane?" he asked himself, when Bess was out on the road. "Sure them is two great gurls--Miss Isabel and Miss Elizabeth--great gurls!" and Patrick went to curry the horses kept by Mr. Robinson, this being work that the genial and faithful Irishman understood perfectly well. Isabel, meanwhile, continued to sun her splendid hair over the railing of the side porch, in spite of the almost constant danger that it might become entangled in the honeysuckle vine, or be mistaken by a wandering bee or humming bird for some nest or hive in which to nestle. Isabel was always the "dreamer." She had "nerves," and she loved everything aesthetic. Bess, on the contrary, was always "on the spot," as her boy friends declared, and, while she might be a trifle over-enthusiastic at times, there was this consolation, that she was never glum, as her personal supply of good-nature never seemed to be lacking. Not that Isabel was moody, save at such times when she was alone, and thought of many things--for, in company, she entered into the fun with a zest equal to almost anyone's save her more volatile sister. So the Robinson twins were an interesting study--so different in disposition--so unlike in taste--but so well matched on two points--their love for motoring and a good time during vacation, and their love for their chum and companion, Cora Kimball. While her sister was lazily dreaming away amid the honeysuckle vines, letting the gentle breeze riffle through, and dry her hair, Bess was skimming along the fine Chelton roads, her mind intent on the good times in prospect when she, with her mother and sister, were to go to a cottage at Lookout Beach. "Oh, I just know it will be perfectly bang-up!" exclaimed Bess, half aloud, and smiling at the chance to use words that meant something, without shocking Belle. "We will have no end of good times. My! It makes me want to go fast to think about it," and, suiting the action to the word, she pressed her foot on the accelerator pedal, and the car shot forward, while the hand on the dial of the speedometer trembled around the twenty-five miles an hour mark. "I don't care!" thought Bess, as she kept her foot on the pedal. "I'm going to speed for once. Belle never will let me." As she suddenly swung around a turn in the road she was made aware of how fast the pace was, for the car skidded a bit dangerously, and, a moment later, without a warning blast of the horn, another auto, moving in the opposite direction, shot into view. By a quick twist of the steering wheel, nearly sending the car into the ditch at the roadside, Bess avoided a collision.