CHAPTER I – THE UNEXPECTED ALWAYS HAPPENS
“I think I’d make a pretty good housemaid,” said Barbara, on her knees, energetically polishing the floor of the cottage parlor.
“Only housemaids don’t wear gloves and all-over aprons and mobcaps,” replied Mollie.
“And they don’t protect their skins from dust with cold cream,” added Barbara, teasingly. “Do they, Molliekins?”
“Oh well,” replied Mollie, “duty and beauty rhyme, and every woman ought to try and keep her looks, according to the beauty pages in all the papers.”
“Poor old Molliekins!” exclaimed her sister. “Crowsfeet and gray hair at fifteen!”
“Going on sixteen,” corrected Mollie, as she gave a finishing rub to the mahogany center table, a relic of more prosperous days, and flourished an old, oily stocking that made an excellent polisher. “But the papers do say that automobiling is very harmful to the complexion and the face should be protected by layers of cold cream and powder, and a veil on top of that.”
“I’m willing to take the chance,” laughed Barbara, “if ever I get another one.”
“I suppose Ruth is so busy getting ready for her six weeks’ trip abroad that she won’t have much time for her ‘bubble’ this August,” observed Mollie. “But, dear knows, we can’t complain. There never was a rich girl who knew how to make other people happy as well as she does. Sometimes I think she is really a fairy princess, disguised as a human being, who is just gratifying her desire to do nice things for girls like us.”
“No, she is no fairy,” commented Barbara. “That is why we love her so. She is just a jolly, nice girl and as human as anybody. When she asked us to go to Newport it was because she really wanted us. She has often told me, since, that she had been planning the trip for months, but the girls she knew were not exactly the kind who would have fallen into such a scheme. Gladys Le Baron would never have done, you see, at that time, because she always wanted Harry Townsend hanging about.”
Harry Townsend, our readers will recall, appeared in a former volume of this series, “The Automobile Girls at Newport.” He was the famous youth known to the police as “The Boy Raffles,” whose mysterious thefts were the puzzle of the society world. It was Barbara Thurston, by her grit and intelligence, who finally brought the criminal to justice, though not before Newport had been completely bewildered by a number of inexplicable jewelry robberies.
Following the visit to Newport came another delightful trip to the Berkshire Hills. The romantic rescue of a little girl whose birth had been concealed from her rich white relatives by her Indian grandmother; Mollie Thurston lost in an unexplored forest; the thrilling race between an air ship and an automobile – these and other exciting adventures were described in the second volume of the series entitled “The Automobile Girls in the Berkshires.”
“How hot it is!” continued Bab. “Suppose we have some lemonade. These forest fire mists are really fine ashes and they make me quite thirsty.”
She polished away vigorously while Mollie tripped off to make a cooling drink in the spotless little kitchen. Except for the tinkle of ice against glass the house was very still. Outside, not a breeze was stirring, and the meadows were draped in a curious, smoky mist. The sun hung like a red ball in the sky; the air was hot and heavy. The flowers in the garden borders drooped their heads in spite of persistent and frequent waterings. Three months’ drought had almost made a desert of Kingsbridge. The neat little scrap of a lawn was turning brown in patches, like prematurely gray hair, Barbara said. Even the birds were silent, and Mollie’s cherished family of bantams, a hen, a rooster and one chick, crouched listlessly in the shadow of the hedge.
Just then the stillness was broken by the distant crunch-crunch of an automobile. But the girls were too intent on what they were doing to take any notice until it stopped at their own front gate, and the sound of gay laughter and voices floated up the walk. Mollie and Barbara rushed together to the front porch.
“It’s Ruth herself!” they cried in the same breath, running down the steps without stopping to remove their long gingham aprons and dusting caps. “And there’s mother, too,” exclaimed Mollie.
“And Mr. Stuart and Aunt Sallie, all complete!” cried Barbara.
In a moment the three girls were engaged in a sort of triangular embrace while the others looked smilingly on.
“Well, young ladies,” said Mr. Stuart, “are those automobile coats you’re wearing, and bonnets, too?”
“I think they would do pretty well for motoring,” replied Barbara, “they are specially made for keeping out the dust.”
“They are just as cute as they can be,” said loyal Ruth, who was too tender-hearted to let her friends be teased.
“But where on earth did you come from, Ruth?” asked Mollie. “We were just talking about you a moment ago. We thought, of course, you were still in Denver, and lo and behold! you appear in person in Kingsbridge.”
“Well, papa had a call East,” replied Ruth, bubbling with suppressed joy, “and I had a call, too. Papa’s was business and mine was – well, just to call on you.” By that time they had reached the cool, half-darkened little parlor whose bare floor and mahogany furniture reflected their faces in the recently polished surfaces.
