But it was too late. In turning out, Lily’s engine had also stalled, and the car came to a stop six or eight feet behind the other. The girls looked at each other in dismay.
“Now this is a pretty muddle to get into!” called Lily, from the rear.
“Mud-dle is good!” remarked someone; “but how are we to get out?”
“Let her cool a while,” Ethel advised; “and then try her again.”
“Some more of our precious time!” muttered Marjorie, peevishly, as she mopped the perspiration from her face. She could not help holding it against Daisy and Florence.
Accordingly, they set themselves to the unpleasant task of waiting. After five minutes’ time, Marjorie decided to try again. But although the engine started bravely enough, the car stubbornly refused to move forward. The rear wheels, turning in the rut, sent forth a shower of mud, and since they would not take hold, only dug them in deeper. Repeated attempts proved fruitless, and were finally abandoned.
“We’ll have to be towed out!” remarked Marjorie, grimly.
“By whom?” asked Ethel.
Marjorie shrugged her shoulders; she could not see much hope.
“Maybe one of the farm-houses has a horse—” she began.