“Not at all,” said the girl. “My name is Hope—Hope Stevens,” she said, in the most delightfully simple manner. “I always like to introduce myself—’specially to young girls.”
“We are very glad to know you, Hope,” said Cora. “This is Miss Bess Robinson, this Miss Belle Robinson, and I am Cora Kimball.”
“Oh, I know who you are now,” declared Hope. “They call you the Motor Girls.”
“I am afraid they do,” agreed Bess. “But then we are just plain girls as well—our motors do not make us—we try to make them—go!”
“That is what father said when he saw you come over yonder hill, when he left the field to get the team. Do you know he makes more money hauling folks with automobiles up this hill, than he does on the farm? He always stops his work and gets the team ready when he sees an auto stuck out here.”
“Oh, that is what he intended to do,” said Cora. “Well, it was very good of him to be so prompt, but we are always able to make our own hills—I don’t really think we will need him.”
“Lots of folks think that way,” said Hope. “But, of course, you ought to know—best. Do you think you can get up the hill?”
“Yes. You see these are practically new machines,” explained Cora, “and we have been taught to run them carefully.”
“Pa says that girls are more careful than men,” added Hope, and Belle kept her eyes on the pretty face beneath the bonnet. She thought she had never seen such dimples, and such splendidly marked brows.
“There comes pa now,” went on the girl. “He will be——”