“That’s done it!” and Dick came gloomily out from beneath the car. “Oh, Dick, what’s wrong? Can’t we go on?” wailed Sheila from the back seat. Della leaned over the side. “What’s up, old chap? Is it serious?” “ ’Fraid so. I don’t know exactly,” Dick confessed ruefully, “but she’s crashed; something’s crocked inside. I’ll have to get help from the village. Luckily, it isn’t far.” “Then we’re stuck here, I suppose;” his elder sister looked round at the hedges, and the fields, and the lane for inspiration. “Oh, but we must get on somehow!” Sheila cried strenuously. She was thirteen, with long waving brown hair, while Adela, who was twenty, was brown also, but had neatly shingled hair to show a prettily-shaped head. “We can’t desert Dicky and the car, Shee,” her sister said reproachfully. “I can! He doesn’t want us, if he’s going to tinker at the old thing’s inside. I’m dying to see your Abbey, and all its girls. Is it much farther, Dell? Couldn’t we walk? Or get a lift somehow?” “My Abbey! Thanks awfully! That’s a handsome present to give me. And it’s a thousand chances to one against any of the girls being there.” Della reached for the map. “Just exactly where are we, Dick?”