“I’m going to meet her,” exclaimed Tommy, springing to her feet.  “You thtay here.”  Tommy started off, scattering a lapful of daisies about her as she ran, then fled down the hill in a series of leaps, her white shoe ties brushing the tops of the daisies and sending the latter into a nodding sea of protest.

“Grace!  Grace, come back!” cried Hazel.

“Isn’t she a tomboy!” scoffed Margery.  “Her nickname suits her.”

Tommy was moving too rapidly at that moment to turn back, even though she had wished to do so.  So fast was her gait that she appeared to have lost control of herself.  Her little white-shod feet were working like parts of a machine driven at high speed.  Her voice floated up to them in a shrill wail.

“Thave me!  I’m going to fall,” she cried.  Then she disappeared from view as she sprawled face downward with arms thrust forward among the daisies and tall grass.

“Oh!  She is hurt,” cried Hazel in alarm.

“No, she isn’t.  Don’t get excited,” answered Margery calmly.  “You don’t know Tommy if you think a little tumble like that could harm her.  See, there she goes.”

Sure enough, Grace was on her feet again racing down the hill at the same reckless pace as before.  She reached the foot of the hill without further mishap, hesitated a second or so at the fence, and then vaulted over it.  For a moment, she was out of sight in the ditch beside the road, then she was seen clambering into the dusty highway.

Hazel was laughing.

“You couldn’t do that, Buster, I’ll warrant.”

“I am sure I don’t want to,” answered Margery stretching out comfortably with her hands supporting her head.  “I’m no circus performer.”

Hazel uttered a little exclamation.

“Look Margery!  Look!” she cried.

“Well, what is it?  I don’t see anything,” replied Margery petulantly, raising herself on one elbow, gazing listlessly down into the valley where the village lay baking under the hot June sun.

“It’s a special,” cried Hazel.  “See, the cars are orange colored.  Aren’t they pretty?  I never saw anything more attractive.”

Margery turned up her nose disdainfully.

“I don’t see anything about a railroad train to get excited over,” she answered, lying back in the shade of the maple tree, beneath which the girls had been resting for the past hour or so.

That the special train rushing down the valley, would make no stop at Meadow-Brook, Hazel could plainly see.  Trains that were to stop there always slowed down before reaching the second crossing west of the village.  This one had not done so.  No sooner had Hazel observed this than she caught sight of something else, something that set her nerves all a tingle.  A huge cloud of dust was rolling down the highway near the railroad tracks.  That this cloud was not caused by the train was plain to the watching girl.  Soon she was able to make out the outlines of an automobile in the cloud of dust.  The train was but a short distance away.  Each was making for the crossing, where the highway and railroad tracks met.  Hazel did not believe the driver of the motor car was aware that the train was so close, even if the driver knew of its presence at all, for no train was due to pass through Meadow-Brook at that hour.