"Great Scott! Thelma, I didn't notice that this big gun of mine was filling up all the road," Joe exclaimed. "That was the neatest curve I ever saw. That's Ponk's car from New Eden, but only a civil engineer's eye could have kept out of the river right there." "The pretty girl who is visiting the Macphersons was the driver," Thelma said. "No! Was it, sure?" Joe queried, looking with keen eyes down the trail, whither the gray runabout was gliding like a bird on the wing. "Why, of course it was!" Thelma assured him, feeling suddenly how shabby her own machine became in comparison. "I must go now. Come over and see Paul when you can." "I will. How is the baby?" Joe asked. "Oh, splendid, and so much company for Paul!" Thelma declared. "Yes, a baby is the preacher and the whole congregation sometimes. Let me know if you need any help. Good-by." So in neighborly good-will they separated, Joe to follow the gray car down the trail, and Thelma to wonder briefly at the easy life of the beautiful Eastern girl whose lot was so unlike her own. Only briefly, however, for Thelma was of too happy a temperament, of too calm and philosophical a mentality, to grieve vainly. It always put a song in her day, too, to meet Joe upon the way. Not only on common farm topics were she and Joe congenial companions, but in politics, the latest books, the issues of foreign affairs, the new in science, they found a common ground. Joe's thoughts were of the Eastern girl, too, as he thundered down the trail in his noisy wagon. "I wish I could overtake her before she gets to the forks of the road," he said to himself. "I know she's not going to go my way farther than that. But why is she here at all? There's nobody living down the river road for miles, except old Fishing Teddy. She did dine at his expense the day she came out to her sand-pile. He told me all about it the night when we rode down from town together. Funny old squeak he is. But he can't interest her. Hello! Yonder we are." In three minutes he was beside the gray car, that was standing at the point where the river road branched from the main trail. "Good morning, Mr. Thomson. I knew you were coming this way, so I waited for you here. I don't go down that road. You know why." Jerry pointed toward the way down which her own land lay. Joe lifted his hat in greeting, his cheeks flushing through the tan, for his heart would jump furiously whenever he came into this girl's presence. "Good morning, Miss Swaim. I am glad you waited," he managed to say. "You certainly know how to guide a car. I didn't know I was filling the whole highway up at the bridge." "Oh, there was plenty of room," Jerry said, indifferently. "Yes, plenty if you know how to stick to it. That's the secret of a lot of things, I guess--not finding a wider trail, but knowing how to drive straight through on the one you have found."