Part 3 (1/2)

When the motor girls went on a tour, they made a strange promise--or rather Cora did--and how she kept it you will find fully set forth in the second volume. In the third you may read of the doings of the girls at Lookout Beach, where came two runaways whom Cora befriended.

The runaways were two girls--but there, I must not spoil the story for you by telling you their secret.

Going through New England in their cars, the motor girls had a strange experience with the gypsies, as set forth in the fourth volume. Cora was in dire straits for a time, but with her usual good luck, and her good sense, she finally turned the situation to the advantage of herself and her chums.

Motoring so appealed to the girls that when they got the chance to change from the land to the water they eagerly took it. Cora became the owner of a fine motor boat, and in the story ”The Motor Girls on Cedar Lake,” you may read of what she and her friends did with their craft. The hermit of Fern Island had much to be thankful for, after meeting Cora, who did him a great service.

Longing for wider waters in which to display their skill as amateur motor-boatists, the girls went to the coast the Summer following their experiences on Cedar Lake, and there they found the waif from the sea.

Again did Cora and her chums take advantage of an opportunity to befriend an unfortunate.

The experiences of that Summer were talked of nearly all of the following Winter. Now warm weather had come again, and with it the desire to be flitting to a watering place. Crystal Bay, as I have said, was selected, and of the start for that place I have already told.

Cora, walking back through the coaches, looking from side to side for Freda, found herself wondering what had caused the sudden change in her former companion.

”She was considered well-off at school,” murmured Cora, as she saw her friend half way down the second coach, ”but she never appeared fond of money. Now the loss of it seems to have changed her terribly. I wonder if it can be--just money?”

Cora reached the seat where Freda was, with her face turned toward the window.

”Well, I am here, you see,” announced Cora, pleasantly. ”I left them to s.h.i.+ft for themselves a while. They do seem to depend so much on me.”

”That's because you are always doing things for others,” said Freda, and there was a suspicious brightness in her eyes.

”Then I hope I can do something for you!” exclaimed Cora, earnestly.

”Come, Freda, dear, tell me your troubles--that is, if you would like to,” she added quickly, not wis.h.i.+ng to force a confidence for which the other might not be ready.

”Oh, Cora, dear, of course you know I want to--it isn't that! Only I don't like to pile my worries on you.”

”Go on--it always helps to tell someone else. Who knows but what I may help you. Is it a real worry, Freda?”

”So real that sometimes I am afraid to think about it!”

There was no mistaking the girl's fear. She looked over her shoulder as though she expected to see some unpleasant object, or person.

”Suppose you begin at the beginning,” suggested Cora, with a smile.

”Then I'll know what we are talking of.”

”I don't know what the beginning was,” said Freda slowly, ”but I can almost see the--ending,” and she seemed to s.h.i.+ver. ”But where are you going, Cora, you and your friends?” she asked. ”I must not be selfish and talk only about myself.”

”We are going to Crystal Bay.”

”Crystal Bay! How odd, just where mother is, and where I am going.

Then I shall see you often.”

”I hope so,” murmured Cora. ”We have a cute little bungalow, and the boys--my brother and his chums--will use a tent. But I want to hear more about your trouble. Really, Freda, you do look quite ill.”

”Perhaps that is partly because I have been traveling all night. It is always so wearying. But my chief cause of anxiety is for mother. She is really on the verge of a breakdown, the doctor says. Oh, if anything happens to her----”

”Don't think of it,” urged Cora. ”Perhaps it will help you if you tell me some particulars.”