The selection of a luncheon set took Miss Ashton and Jeanette much longer than they expected; then they spent an hour looking at the fascinating souvenirs in one of the shops devoted to such bait for the tourist. It is almost impossible to tear one’s self away from their attractive displays.
Martha found driving on the dusty, winding roads of Nova Scotia quite a different thing from rolling smoothly over the concrete roads at home. Besides a stream, on one road, they saw a brand new maroon sedan on its side in the water, at the right of a narrow bridge. The bank at the entrance to the bridge plainly showed where the driver had gone over. Martha got so nervous that she wanted to give up the wheel to her companion at once; but he quietly refused.
“Go right ahead,” he ordered. “You’ll have to learn to cross narrow bridges.”
“But that car down there,” protested Martha.
“Don’t look at it. Keep your eyes on the road ahead of the car.”
Martha was not at all accustomed to being told so firmly what to do, and expected to do it. Everyone had always laughed at her and considered her ways and remarks a huge joke. She did not know now whether to obey or not; so she slowed up a bit.
“Go on,” said her instructor. “Keep to the right of the center of the bridge, and you’ll be over it in a minute.”
“Don’t ever let yourself become unnerved at the sight of an accident,” he went on sternly when they had left the bridge behind. “Put your mind on the managing of your own car, and let the other fellow attend to his.”
Long before the lesson was over, Martha discovered that there are instructors; and instructors.
“Where is Nan?” inquired Miss Ashton, when they assembled for lunch.