The chauffeur who brought the car seemed a little surprised at the antics of the children, for he was a stolid Englishman, and not much accustomed to American exuberance.

Mr. Maynard had engaged him on the best recommendations, and felt sure that he was a trust-worthy and capable man.  His name was Pompton, and he was large and muscular, with a face that was grave but not ill-natured.

Kingdon made friends with him at once, and climbing up into the seat beside him, asked innumerable questions about the various parts of the machine.

“Suppose we go at once for a trial spin,” proposed Mr. Maynard, and almost before he had completed his sentence, a chorus of assent rose in response.

“Oh, do, Father,” cried King; “and let me stay here in front, so I can see how it works.”

“Some other time you may do that, King, but this time I want to sit in front myself, so hop out, and take one of the orchestra chairs.”

“All right, sir,” and King tumbled out, and flew around to the other side of the car.  Mrs. Maynard, Kitty, and Rosamond were already seated in the wide, comfortable back seat.  This left two seats in the tonneau for King and Marjorie, and with Mr. Maynard in front, by the side of Pompton, the car offered perfect accommodations for the Maynard family.  It was a big touring car of a most approved make, and up-to-date finish.  The top could be opened or closed at will, and there were many appurtenances and clever contrivances for comfort, designed to add to the delights of a long tour.

The family had been so eager to start at once that they had not paused to get hats or wraps, and as the top was down, the strong breeze blew their hair all about, and also made conversation a little difficult.

But the Maynard children were not baffled by difficulties, and they raised their voices until they were audible in spite of the wind.

“Isn’t it magnificent!” screamed Marjorie, pulling at King’s collar to attract his attention.

“Perfectly gorgiferous!—­and then some!” he yelled back, a little preoccupied in manner, because he was leaning over the chauffeur’s shoulder, in his impatience to learn how to run the machine.

They went flying through the streets of Rockwell, and out into the country for a little run.  Then as they were to start on their tour next day, Mrs. Maynard declared they must be turning homeward.

“Oh, Father,” cried Marjorie, “after Mother gets out, mayn’t we take Delight out for a few moments?  Even only just around the block?”

“Will she care to go, Mopsy?  You know an automobile isn’t such a wonderful novelty to her as it is to you.”

“Oh, yes, she’ll care to go in ours,—­and anyway I mean just for a minute.”

“All right then, chickabiddy; we’ll put Mother and Baby out, then we’ll take Delight around the block, and that’ll be about all for to-day.”

So Mrs. Maynard and Rosy Posy were deposited on their own doorstep, and the big red car flew across the street to give Delight an exhibition of its glories.