Marjorie glanced at her speedometer before replying.
“But we have only made seventy-two miles today,” she said. “And you know our resolution to cover a hundred!”
“Remember that this is the desert!” Florence reminded her; “And we can’t expect—” She stopped abruptly, her attention drawn by the loud sobs of a woman, coming from an abandoned wagon by the side of the road. Marjorie too heard the weeping and instinctively stopped her car a few feet beyond. The scouts looked at each other in doubt as to their proper course of action.
“Ask her whether we can help,” whispered Alice to Mrs. Remington.
“Maybe the child is hurt,” suggested Florence. “There is a child beside her, isn’t there?”
“Yes, I think so,” replied Mrs. Remington. “And perhaps I had better get out.”
The girls watched their leader in admiration as she walked back to the stranger and offered assistance in her tactful, reassuring tone. The woman’s sobs ceased, and though the scouts were too polite to look around, they knew that Mrs. Remington had made herself welcome.
“But you’re goin’ the wrong way!” protested the woman. “And it’s gettin’ awful dark now.”
As she uttered these words the smaller car pulled up behind the wagon and came to a stop. Mrs. Remington nodded briefly to the girls and went on with her conversation.
“But I do wish you would tell me your trouble,” she pleaded. “Is—your little girl hurt?”