Exhilarated by the rushing air and the sunshine, Mollie put on extra speed, then gazed side-wise and wickedly at Amy.

“‘Oh, Mollie, do be careful,’” she mimicked.

“‘I don’t care about dying, but I’d rather choose a neater death!’”

But for once Amy refused to bite.  She simply smiled calmly and helped herself to another of Grace’s fast disappearing chocolates.

“Go as far as you like, dear,” was her surprising comment.  “I feel rather wild and woolly myself to-day.  Nothing you could do would bother me.”

The girls looked surprised—­Mollie anxious.

“Goodness,” she said disconsolately, “that takes away half the fun.  What’s the use of teasing you when you won’t tease?”

“Does seem rather a waste of time,” remarked Amy, and they gaped anew.

“Goodness, what has come over the child?” asked Grace of Betty, adding with sudden suspicion, “She must have had a letter.”

“Did you?” they cried all at once, fixing accusing eyes upon her.

“You must be joking,” Amy answered plaintively.  “I haven’t had a letter for so long I don’t know what it would look like.”

“It is just about time we heard from the boys again,” said Betty thoughtfully.  “Has anybody been to the post-office to-day?”

It seemed nobody had, for everybody had been too busy; so Mollie made an abrupt turn, almost sending the car into a ditch, and headed back for town.

“Now what are you doing?” queried Amy plaintively.

“Going to remedy an awful mistake,” Mollie replied shortly.  “I couldn’t enjoy my holiday if I thought there might be letters waiting for us.”

Amy and Grace protested.

But they were not disappointed.  There were not only letters from the boys, but several fat and interesting epistles from friends and relatives in Deepdale, including two from Paul and Dodo, Mollie’s small and mischievous brother and sister.

“Let’s drive away out of town where we can be by ourselves,” Betty suggested, face radiant, fingers fairly aching to tear the precious missives from their envelopes.  “Then we can stop the car and Mollie can read hers, too.”

“You always have the right idea, Betty honey,” said Mollie, with fond emphasis, as she swung the car at breakneck speed down the street and headed for the open country.  “Now aren’t you glad,” she flung at Grace and Amy, “that we made you go back with us and take a chance?”

“Don’t rub it in, Mollie dear,” purred Grace, too happy at the prospect before them to contradict anything or anybody on earth.  “We are deeply appreciative and inordinately grateful to you for your wonderful foresight and insistence.”

“Is she calling me names?” cried Mollie threateningly.  “For if she is, I should like to remark for the benefit of each and every one that I am still in possession of the wheel, and a swift and terrible doom shall overtake—­”