“Oh, then by all means let us be—­ the wastebaskets!” exclaimed Mr. Stone, laughing.

“Oh, I didn’t mean just that,” and Betty blushed.

“I understand,” he replied, and Aunt Kate passed over a plate of chicken sandwiches.  Under cover of opening another bottle of olives, Mollie whispered to Grace: 

“Ask him some questions—­ start on motoring—­ ask if they ever motored near Deepdale.”

“I will,” whispered Grace, and, as the two young men ate, she led the topic of talk to automobiles.

“Do you motor?” she asked, looking directly at Mr. Stone.  She was certain now that at least he had been in the car that caused Prince to run away.

“Oh, yes, often,” he answered.  “Do you?”

“No, but I am very fond of horseback riding,” she said.  She was certain that Mr. Stone started.

“Indeed,” said he, “that is something I never cared about.  Frankly, I am afraid of horses.  I saw one run away once, with a young lady, and——­ "

“Do you mean that time we were speeding up to get out of the storm?” his friend interrupted, “and we hit a stone, swerved over toward the animal, and nearly struck it?”

“Yes, that was the time,” answered Mr. Stone.  Grace could hardly refrain from crying out that she was on that same horse.

“I have always wondered who that girl was,” Mr. Stone went on, “and some day I mean to go back to the scene of the accident, and see if I can find out.  I have an idea she blames us for her horse running away.  But it was an accident, pure and simple; wasn’t it, Bob?”

“It certainly was.  You see it was this way,” he explained, and Grace felt sure they would ask her why she was so pale, for the blood had left her cheeks on hearing that the young men were really those she had suspected.  “Harry, here, and myself,” went on Mr. Kennedy, “had been out for a little run, to transact some business.  We were on a country road, and a storm was coming up.  We put on speed, because we did not want to get wet, and I had to be at a telegraph office at a certain time to complete a deal by wire.

“Just ahead of us was a girl on a white horse.  The animal seemed frightened at the storm, and just as we came racing past our car struck a stone, and was jolted right over toward the animal.  I am not sure but what we hit it.  Anyhow the horse bolted.  The girl looked able to manage it, and as it was absolutely necessary for us to keep on, we did so.”

“I looked back, and I thought I saw the horse stumble with the girl,” put in Mr. Stone, “but I was not sure, and then the rain came pelting down, and the road was so bad that it took both of us to manage the car.  We were late, too.  But we meant to go back and see if any accident happened.”

“Only when we got to the telegraph office,” supplied his friend, “we were at once called to New York in haste, and so many things have come up since that we never got the chance.  Tell me,” he said earnestly, “you girls live in Deepdale.  This happened not far from there.  Did you ever hear of a girl on a white horse being seriously hurt?”