“We’ll beat them, won’t we, Mother?” asked Meg.  “And this time Aunt Polly won’t have to come to meet us.”

Father Blossom came hurrying back and climbed into his seat.

“I’m glad I asked,” he told Mother Blossom.  “They’re repairing a stretch of the lake shore road and we’ll have to make a short detour.  It won’t add more than half an hour to our running time.”

They moved forward slowly, for the narrow streets of the little town observed no traffic rules, and boat passengers, baby carriages, horses, jitneys and automobiles had to find their way about as best they could, and then, when they reached the open road, Father Blossom allowed his car to gather more speed.

“Isn’t the lake pretty!” said Meg, as they rounded a curve and saw the water shining through the screen of trees.  “What do you suppose they are doing in that funny boat?”

“Fishing, aren’t they, Daddy?” Bobby asked.  “I hope I can go fishing.  Palmer Davis went with his father twice last year.”

“I’ll take you,” Father Blossom promised.

“There’s a man walking,” Dot announced suddenly.

Before any one could stop him, Twaddles had mounted his seat, his precious cage under his arm.

“Where?” he demanded.

Then he lost his balance and the cage shot over the side of the car.

“Oh, dear,” sighed Twaddles.  “I didn’t mean to drop it, Daddy.  Honestly, it slipped.”

Father Blossom looked rather grim, for his patience with the useless cage was sorely tried.

“I’ll get it,” shouted the solitary walker, who had turned on hearing the car and now ran back toward the Blossoms.

He was a pleasant-faced man, rather shabbily dressed, with a soft felt hat pulled well down over honest gray eyes.  He handed the cage up to Twaddles smiling and revealing a set of square, even white teeth.  Father Blossom started as the light fell clearly across the man’s face.

“Dick Harley!” he ejaculated.  “Where did you drop from?”

The man pushed his hat back and his smile changed to a slow, sheepish grin.  His hair was quite gray at the temples and Meg privately decided that he must be old.

“Well, well, Mr. Blossom!” he exclaimed, plainly pleased.  “You’re the last person I ever expected to meet right here.  This your family?”

“Get in, if you’re going our way,” said Father Blossom cordially.  “Margaret, you remember Dick Harley?”

Mother Blossom held out her hand.

“Of course I do, though it has been several years since we’ve seen each other,” she said pleasantly.  “Oh, there’s plenty of room, Mr. Harley.  You sit with Mr. Blossom and I’ll take Dot on my lap.”

Dot was passed over the back seat, and Mr. Harley sat in the front seat with Twaddles between him and Father Blossom.

“This your family?” he repeated.  “Which is the little feller I used to hold in my lap?”