all right!"

"But it hasn't turned out anything yet," replied Dorothy, "although we
all came pretty near it--that time."

She clasped her hand around one of the braces of the hayrick,
evidently determined that should she be "turned out" her arm would be
responsible.

"That's just like you, Nita Brant," declared Tavia Travers, the latter
really being manager of the occasion. "When I go to work, and hire a
car like this, and especially stipulate that the ride shall
be--rural--you kick on the bumps."

But scarcely had she uttered these words, when a "bump" came, with
neither time nor opportunity for Nita's "kick." In fact, it was
remarkable that the old hay wagon did not actually carry out its
threat, to roll over in the direction toward which it wobbled.

"If you young ladies care to ride any farther," called out a man from
the front of the wagon, "you better be still. I ain't put no corks in
the holes in the bottom of this autymobile."

He chuckled at his own joke. The holes were only too apparent to the
fair occupants of the hay wagon.

"Oh, it's all right, Sam," called back Tavia, "the only thin member of
the party, who might by any chance fall through a hole, is dying from
bumps, and we have a good hold on her. If you could see through the
hay you would behold the human chain in action," and she gave Nita