The Tangled Threads

by Eleanor H. Porter

"In the garage on the estate," returned Herbert, consulting his letter.
"I'm requested to take it away."

"Requested! Only fancy! As if we were n't dying to take it away!"

"Yes, but—how?" The man's face had grown suddenly perplexed.

"Why, go and get it, of course."

"But one can't walk in and pocket a motor-car as one would a package of greenbacks."

"Of course not! But you can get it and run it home. It's only fifty miles, anyhow."

"I don't know how to run an automobile. Besides, there's licenses and things that have to be 'tended to first, I think."

"Well, somebody can run it, can't there?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so. But—where are we going to keep it?"

"Herbert Wheeler, one would think you were displeased that we 've been given this automobile. As if it mattered where we kept it, so long as we had it to keep!"