The lovely vistas of valley and river, with intersecting hills, were softened into dream pictures by a transparent curtain of mist, which hid the parched look of the foliage from the long drought.
The five automobilists sped along over smooth roads between splendid estates. Most of the great houses were screened by stretches of thickly wooded parks, and each park was guarded by a lodge, after the English fashion. But there were plenty of charming old houses in full view of the passerby—rambling, comfortable homes set down on smooth lawns.
“How beautiful all this is!” sighed Mollie, as she leaned back in her seat and gazed down the long avenue of trees.
“Yes,” called Ruth over her shoulder. “I took the longest way to the church, because this road is so pretty.”
“Here’s the lane to Sleepy Hollow,” cried the ever-watchful Barbara, and the automobile turned into a country road that appeared to lead off into low-lying hills beyond.
“What is that cloud of dust behind us,” demanded Miss Sallie, looking back.
“It’s a man on a motor cycle,” replied Grace. “He is turning in here, too, but he is slowing up. I suppose he doesn’t want to give us a dusting. Rather nice of him, isn’t it?”
“Fancy a motor cycle and a headless horseman riding in the same lane,” observed Ruth.
“Well, if it came to a race,” replied Barbara, “I think I would take the motor cycle. They do go like the wind.”
“And the noise of them is so terrifying,” went on Ruth, “that the poor headless horseman would probably have been scared back to death again.”