"Oh, mercy!" yelled Belle. "We're going to have another fire and brimstone thunderstorm! Cora, make for that farmhouse!"
"Yes," called Cora, "I guess it will be all wind, and it won't hurt the machines. Turn for the cottage, girls!"
Blinding and brutal, the wind and sand attacked the eyes and ears of the motor girls, in spite of all the hoods and goggles. It was one of those tearing windstorms, that often come in summer, seemingly bent on raising everything on earth heavenward except the sand—that always sought refuge under eyelids—the average grain of sand would rather get in a girl's eye than help to make up a reputable mountain.
The line of cars made straight for the little farmhouse. It was sheltered in a clump of pines quite near the roadside.
Bess drew up first. Belle was out, and upon the steps of the porch. She had even struck the brass knocker before the others could bring their machines to a stop.
"Belle is frightened," said Ray, taking her time to leave Cecilia's auto.
"Well, we had a great storm one day—and Belle has the reflex action," explained Cora, referring to an exciting incident told of in the first book of this series.
The door of the cottage opened.
"Come on, girls!" called Belle. "We may come in—the lady says."
"Now—now for an adventure!" whispered Cecilia. "I can see it through the closed blinds! I see it under the knocker. I feel it in my gloves! Yes, young ladies, there is going to be something doing inside that cottage!"