The Princess of the School | Page 8

stoppage, but with no result. After
half an hour's tinkering, he was obliged ruefully to acknowledge
himself utterly baffled.
They were indeed in an extremely awkward situation, stranded on a
wild moor, probably sixty miles from home, and with the short winter's
day closing rapidly in.
"What are we to do?" gasped Lilias, half-crying.
"We can't stay here all night!"
"Finish our prog and sleep in the car," suggested Roland.
"No, no! We should be frozen before morning."
"I think we'd better walk on while it's light enough to see," said Everard.
"We shall probably strike a highroad soon, and we'll stop some
motorist, ask for a lift to the nearest town, and stay all night at a hotel."
"But what about the car?"
"We must just leave her to her fate. There's nothing else for it. I don't
suppose anybody will touch her up here. It can't be helped, any way."
"Let's finish our prog before we set off!" persisted Roland, opening the
picnic basket.
The family was hungry again, so they readily set to work to dispose of
the remains of their lunch. It might be a long time before they were
within reach of their next meal, and they blessed Cook for having
packed a plentiful supply. Everard would not let them linger for more
than a few minutes.
"Hurry up, you kids!" he urged. "We don't know how far we may have
to go, and it will be getting dark soon. Thank goodness we shall be
walking down hill, at any rate."
[Illustration: "WHAT ARE WE TO DO!" GASPED LILIAS]

After whisking along in the car, "Shanks's pony" seemed a very slow
mode of progress; their breakdown had happened in an out-of-the-way
spot, and it was more than an hour before they reached a highroad. It
was almost dark by that time, and matters seemed so desperate that
Everard determined to hail the very first passing motorist who seemed
to be able to help them. Fate brought along no handsome tourist car,
but a rattling motor-lorry, the driver of which stopped in answer to their
united shouts, and, after hearing of the difficulty they were in,
consented to give them a lift to the town, five miles away, for which he
was bound. Fortunately the lorry was empty, so the family thankfully
climbed in, and squatted on the floor, while Everard sat in front with
the driver.
It was not a very aristocratic mode of conveyance for the heir of
Cheverley Chase, but Everard was in no mood to pick and choose just
then, and would have accepted a seat in a coal truck if necessary. As for
the younger ones, they enjoyed the fun of it. It was a very bumpy
performance to sit on the floor of the jolting wagon, but at any rate
infinitely preferable to walking.
Arrived in Bilstone, their cicerone drove them to a Commercial Hotel
with whose landlady he had some acquaintance, and that good dame,
after eyeing the party curiously, consented to make up beds for them
for the night.
"I've no private sitting-room to put you in, and I can't show these young
ladies into the commercial room," she objected; "but I'll have a fire
lighted in one of the bedrooms, and you can all have some tea up there.
Will that suit you?"
Lilias and Dulcie, catching a glimpse through an open door of the
company smoking in the commercial room, agreed thankfully, glad to
find some safe haven to which they could beat a retreat.
"I wonder what Cousin Clare would say?" they asked each other.
It was indeed an urgent matter to send some news of their whereabouts
to Cheverley Chase, where their absence must be causing much alarm.

While the landlady, therefore, ordered the tea, Everard went out to the
public telephone, asked for a trunk call, and rang up No. 169 Balderton.
He could hear relief in the voice of old Winder, who answered the
telephone. Everard was not anxious to enter into too many explanations,
so he simply said that they had had a breakdown, told the name of the
town and the hotel where they were staying, and suggested that Milner
should come over next morning to the rescue. On hearing his
Grandfather's voice, he promptly rang off. To-morrow would be quite
time enough, so he felt, for giving the history of their adventure. The
unpleasant interview might just as well be deferred, and he had no wish
to listen to explosions of anger over the telephone.
Tea, tinned salmon, plum and apple jam, and very indifferent bedrooms
were the best that the Commercial Hotel had to offer, but it was
infinitely better than being benighted on the moor. In spite of lack of all
toilet necessaries, the Ingletons slept peacefully, worn out