“Maybe it’ll be a pleasant change then, Miss, to try another sort.”  Pompton’s eyes twinkled good-naturedly as he said this, and Marjorie instinctively recognized that he was trying to joke.

“Ah, you’re fond of us already, Pompton, and you needn’t say you’re not!  It’s a funny thing,” she went on, confidentially, “but everybody loves us Maynards,—­and yet we’re such a bad lot.”

“A bad lot, Miss?”

“Well, full of the old scratch, you know; always cutting up jinks.  Do you know what jinks are, Pompton?”

“No, Miss; what are they?”

“Why they’re just jinks; something to cut up, you know.”

“Cut up, Miss?”

“Oh, Pompton, you’re just like a parrot!  You just repeat what I say!  Don’t you know anything?”

“Very little, Miss.”

But as they rode along, and Marjorie asked her interminable string of questions about the car, or about the trees or flowers they were passing, or about sundry roadside matters, she found that Pompton was a very well-informed man, indeed, as well as being kind and obliging in answering questions.

As they spun along a bit of straight road, Marjorie saw, some distance ahead, a girl sitting on a large stone by the roadside.  The girl’s face was so weary and pained-looking that Marjorie felt a sudden thrill of pity for her, and as a second glance showed that the girl was lame, she impulsively begged Pompton to stop a moment that they might speak to her.

The chauffeur turned around to see if the order were corroborated by the older people, and Mrs. Maynard said, “Yes, Pompton, let us stop and see what the poor girl wants.”

So the car stopped, and Marjorie impetuously jumped out, and ran to speak to the girl, who seemed ill and suffering.  Mr. Maynard joined them at once, and they listened to the girl’s story.

She said her name was Minnie Meyer, and that she had to walk to the neighboring town to buy some provisions for her mother.  But being lame she had become so tired that she sat down to rest by the way.

“How far have you to go, child?” asked Mr. Maynard, kindly.

“I have already walked a mile, sir, and it’s two miles more to Pelton, where I must go.  I have often walked the distance, but my foot is very bad just now, and it is hard going.  I have been ill, and I am not yet very strong.”

“I should think not!” exclaimed King, who had jumped out to see what was going on.  “Look here, Father, we’re going directly to Pelton; it is a straight road, and I can’t miss the way.  You let this girl take my place in the car, and I’ll walk.”

“Now that’s good of you, King,” said his father with an approving glance at the boy, “for this poor child is pretty well tired out.  How can you get home again, Minnie?”

“Oh, sir, I shall have a ride home.  A neighbor of ours will take me; but I have to walk over to Pelton and get my things by the time he’s ready to start.”