“Where is the next town?” asked Mrs. Heard quickly.
“Just sixteen miles away by the map—and fourteen at least as the crow flies,” Agnes said promptly.
“And we’re not crows,” murmured Ruth.
“We can never walk fourteen miles—or more,” Mrs. Heard said, with conviction. “Where is the nearest house?”
“Goodness only knows. There is no other farm on this road—we know that. And I don’t remember seeing any very near to where we turned into it at either end, do you?” said Agnes.
“No, I don’t,” Ruth admitted, shaking her head. “We are in a fix if Neale can’t repair the car himself—and quickly.”
“Don’t say anything to him,” begged Agnes. “He’s as cross as a bear with a sore head.”
Meanwhile Mrs. Heard and the two girls were approaching the automobile.
“Ouch!” grunted Neale from under the car, and Agnes giggled.
“Now he’s bumped his poor head again, and it’s sorer than ever.”