Tavia had taken her place in front, as Nat was to drive the car, while
Dorothy was on the leather cushions in the tonneau, where Ned would
interest her with talk of school and other topics which the two cousins
held in common.

Presently Nat cranked up, swung himself into the car and the Fire-Bird
"grunted off" lazy enough at first, but soon increasing to a swift run
through the streets of Dalton.

"Isn't it splendid!" Tavia could not refrain from exclaiming
enthusiastically.

"Yes," answered Nat, "but I believe there is something in swift motion
that unbalances human equilibrium. The madness of motoring would make
a study. Dorothy would be proud of me could she hear me talk so
learnedly," he said, smiling at his own seriousness, "but I do really
believe half of the unaccountable accidents might be traced to the
speed-madness."

"It does feel dreadfully reckless," said Tavia, realizing something of
the power of speed, and taking off her sailor hat before the straw
piece made away on its own account. "I think it would be just like
flying to be in a real race."

"Not for mine," answered the practical Nat. "I like some kinds of a
good time, but I have too much regard for the insurance company that
saw fit to give me their 'promise to pay,' to trust my bones to the
intelligence of a machine let loose. There is something so uncanny
about a broken neck."

A toot of the horn warned passersby that the Fire-Bird was about to
make a turn. Tavia bowed to those on the walk. Nat touched his cap.

"Who's the pretty one?" he asked, looking back, just a bit rudely, at
Tavia's friends.

"Alice MacAllister, the nicest girl in Dalton, except--"

"Tavia Travers," finished Nat, politely. "Well, she does look nice.
Better get up a lawn party or something and invite her, and
incidentally ask Nat White."

Dorothy leaned forward to whisper to Tavia that Alice was going out
Dighton way to play tennis, that Alice had told her she expected to win
a trophy and this was the game to decide the series. Alice certainly
looked capable of winning most anything, she was such an athletic girl,
the kind called "tailor made," without being coarse or mannish.

Then the Fire-Bird flew on. Out over the hill that hid Dalton from its
pretty suburbs, and then down into the glen that nestled so cozily in
its fringe of pines and cedars. Nat slackened speed to allow the party
full enjoyment of the shady road, and this gave all an opportunit