“Then why not enter?” asked Mr. Kennedy. “I am chairman of that committee. I’ll put the names of you girls down, if you don’t mind. It doesn’t commit you to anything.” The girls had no formal objections. “You are real out-door girls, I can see that!” complimented Mr. Stone. “You must like life in the woods and on the lake.” “Indeed they do,” spoke Aunt Kate. “They walked—I think it was two hundred miles, just before coming on this cruise; didn’t you, Betty?” “Yes, but we took it by easy stages,” evaded the Little Captain. “That was fine!” exclaimed Mr. Kennedy. “Well, Harry, if we’re gong to eat we’d better take our salt and go.” “Won’t you have some of our sandwiches?” asked Mollie, impulsive as usual. “We have more than we can eat,” for they had brought along a most substantial lunch. Mollie looked at Betty and Aunt Kate. They registered no objections. “You are very good,” protested Mr. Kennedy, “but really we don’t want to deprive you——” “It will be no deprivation,” said Betty. “We will be glad not to have them wasted——” “Oh, then by all means let us be—the wastebaskets!” exclaimed Mr. Stone, laughing. “Oh, I didn’t mean just that,” and Betty blushed. “I understand,” he replied, and Aunt Kate passed over a plate of chicken sandwiches. Under cover of opening another bottle of olives, Mollie whispered to Grace: “Ask him some questions—start on motoring—ask if they ever motored near Deepdale.” “I will,” whispered Grace, and, as the two young men ate, she led the topic of talk to automobiles. “Do you motor?” she asked, looking directly at Mr. Stone. She was certain now that at least he had been in the car that caused Prince to run away. “Oh, yes, often,” he answered. “Do you?” “No, but I am very fond of horseback riding,” she said. She was certain that Mr. Stone started. “Indeed,” said he, “that is something I never cared about. Frankly, I am afraid of horses. I saw one run away once, with a young lady, and——” “Do you mean that time we were speeding up to get out of the storm?” his friend interrupted, “and we hit a stone, swerved over toward the animal, and nearly struck it?” “Yes, that was the time,” answered Mr. Stone. Grace could hardly refrain from crying out that she was on that same horse. “I have always wondered who that girl was,” Mr. Stone went on, “and some day I mean to go back to the scene of the accident, and see if I can find out. I have an idea she blames us for her horse running away. But it was an accident, pure and simple; wasn’t it, Bob?”