all be up before the
end of the day.

But the mystery of the closed gates was disturbing the entire household.
It was inexplicable. Mr. Presby declared that it was the work either of
his enemies or of some treasure-seeker who thought he was doing the
owner a service by closing his gates for him.

Late that afternoon the five girls appeared in the dining room little
the worse for their shaking up, although Barbara was far more lame and
sore than she would admit. A general season of rejoicing ensued, and
several neighbors dropped in to congratulate the girls on their
miraculous escape from serious injury.

On seeing her father, Ruth's first question was, "What happened to A.
Bubble?"

Mr. Stuart did not know. He promised to find out, which he did an hour
or so later. Mr. A. Bubble, he told her, would be sent to a shop for
repairs the next day, as he intended going back to Chicago that night
and would attend to it. The radiator had been badly bent, the forward
axle had buckled, guards were smashed, the hood was damaged, in short,
Mr. Bubble presented a most disreputable appearance.

Mr. Stuart told Ruth she was in a certain degree responsible for the
accident, still she had no thought that the gates would be closed.

"I'll know enough after this to keep my car under control. I won't try
to knock over any more houses and things," Ruth retorted.

By the afternoon of their second day at Treasureholme the "Automobile
Girls" had practically gotten over the effects of their accident and
were cosily established in Olive's room consuming hot chocolate and
cakes while Olive, at their urgent request, again recounted the story of
the buried treasure. Now that they were face to face with the great
mystery, they were alive with curiosity. They were burning to see with
their own eyes the place that held so much of mystery and perhaps a
fortune that was probably being trodden over by human feet every hour of
the day.

CHAPTER VIII

EXPLORING THE SECRET PASSAGE

"I CERTAINLY do adore this room!" exclaimed Mollie Thurston, with
glowing eyes.

The "Automobile Girls" and Olive were sitting in the dining room of old
Treasureholme. It was a massive, but cheerful room, the ceiling studded
with great beams. A fireplace constructed of boulders of varying shapes
and sizes, large enough to take a six-foot log, occupied the greater
part of one side of the room. Olive Presby had been telling her guests
various anecdotes relati