me."

Then he swept Betty into his arms.

"Be a good girl, Sweetheart," he murmured, kissing her.

They watched him climb up the steps of the snorting, smoky local, saw his
bags tossed into the baggage car, and then, with a shrill grinding of
wheels, the training resumed its way. As long as they could see, the tall
figure in the gray suit stood on the platform and waved a white
handkerchief to them.

"Oh, Bob, don't let me cry," begged Betty, in a sudden panic.
"Everybody's watching us. Let's go somewhere, quick."

"All right, we will," promised Bob. "We'll take the car to Doctor
Morrison. Hop in, Betsey, and dry your eyes. You're going traveling
yourself day after to-morrow."

"I wasn't really crying," explained Betty as she settled herself in the
shabby car that had belonged to her uncle; he had sold it to the town
physician. "But doesn't it give you a lonesome feeling to be the one
that's left? I hate to say good-bye, anyway."

Bob's experience with motors was rather limited, and what slight
knowledge he possessed had been gained in a few lessons taken while
riding with Mr. Gordon. However, the boy was sure that he could drive the
car the brief distance to the doctor's house, and Betty shared his
confidence. From the Morrison house it was only a short walk to the
Watterby farm, where they were to stay until they left for the East.