uld
not start again--and soon went sliding down the hill to Moffat. Hot
puffs of scented air rose from the valley, they had left the moorlands
and the winds, and the town was holding out arms to welcome them. They
drove along the sunny, sleepy, midday High Street and stopped at a
hotel.

Except David, no member of the Jardine family had ever been inside a
hotel, and it was quite an adventure for them to go up the steps from
the street, enter the swinging doors, and ask a polite woman with
elaborately done hair if they might have luncheon. Yes, they might, and
Peter, at present held tightly in Mhor's arms, could be fed in the
kitchen if that would suit.

Stark had meantime taken the car to a motor-repairing place.

It was half-past three before the car came swooping up to the hotel
doors. Jean gazed at it with a sort of fearful pride. It looked very
well if only it didn't play them false. Stark, too, looked well--a fine,
impassive figure.

"Will it be all right, Stark?" she ventured to inquire, but Stark, who
rarely committed himself, merely said, "Mebbe."

Stark had no manners, Jean reflected, but he had a nice face and was a
teetotaller, and one can't have everything.

To Mhor's joy the road now ran for a bit by the side of the railway line
where thundered great express trains such as there never were in
Priorsford. They were spinning along the fine level road, making up for
lost time, when a sharp report startled them and made Mhor, who was
watching a train, lose his balance and fall forward on to Peter, who was
taking a sleep on the rug at their feet.

It was a tyre gone, and there was no time to mend it if they were to be
at Carlisle in time for tea. Stark put on the spare wheel and they
started again.

Fortune seemed to have got tired of persecuting them, and there were no
further mishaps. They ran without a pause through village after village,
snatching glimpses of lovely places where they would fain have
lingered, forgetting them as each place offered new beauties.

The great excitement to Jock and Mhor was the crossing of the Border.

"I did it once," said Mhor, "when I came from India, but I didn't notice
it."

"Rather not," said Jock; "you were only two. I was four, wasn't I, Jean?
when I came from India, and I didn't notice it."

"Is there a line across the road?" Mhor asked. "And do the people speak
Scots on one side and English on the other? I suppose we'll go over with
a bump."

"There's