“Perhaps, Cousin Agatha.”
“Is that thing yonder green?”
“There’s only one person in it, and—and he’s getting out now. It’s stopped.”
“Anything more?”
“Oh!” cried Lucy, and now it was hers to stand, “I think——”
“Indeed!” remarked Miss Herron. “I fancied I saw that yellow head of his.”
“The workings of Providence!” Lucy sighed.
“How perfectly absurd! Don’t be irreverent, miss.”
As they approached the machine, young Fraser was quite invisible; but when at last Miss Herron had coaxed her horses up to it, and made them stand, he crawled out from beneath it somewhere, red-faced, dusty and with black grease on his hands.
“The penalty of recklessness!” observed the old lady, surveying the boy as though he was inanimate stone. “Broken down.”