Laura Crane - The Automobile Girls Along the Hudson - or, Fighting Fire in Sleepy Hollow

“But Europe doesn’t happen until next month, children, and after finishing his business in the East, papa is going to be kept very busy for at least a month in the West. In the meantime Aunt Sallie and I have no place to go but out, and nothing to do but play around until it’s time to sail. And so, honored friends, I’m again thrown upon your company for as long a time as you can endure my presence. And this is the plan that’s been working in my head all the way on the train: What do you say to a lovely motor trip up along the Hudson to Sleepy Hollow? Don’t you think it would be fine? Grace can go, and we’ll have our same old happy crowd. It’s really only one day’s trip to Tarrytown, where we will stop for as long as we like, and from there we can motor about the country and see some of the fine estates. It is a historic place, you know, girls, full of romance and old stories and legends. We can even motor up into the hills if we like.”

“It would be too perfect!” cried the other two girls.

“I’m just in the mood for adventures, anyway,” declared Barbara. “I’ve been feeling it coming over me for a week.”

“When are we going?” asked Mollie.

“Well, why not to-morrow,” replied Ruth, “while the spirit moves us?”

“O joy, O bliss, O rapture unconfined!” sang Mollie, dancing up and down the porch in her delight.

“You see, there is no special getting ready to do,” went on Ruth. “The chauffeur will go over ‘Mr. A. Bubble,’ this afternoon, and put him in good shape. He’s been acting excellently well for such a hardworking old party. I mean ‘A. Bubble,’ of course.”

“Does mother know yet, Ruth?” asked Barbara, with a sudden misgiving.

“Oh, yes, she knows all about it. Papa and I laid the whole plan before her when we picked her up in the village. She was agreeable to everything, but of course she would be. She is such a dear! Aunt Sallie was the only one who was a bit backward about coming forward. She seemed to think that the forest fires would devour us if we dared venture outside of New York. But, of course, they are only in the mountains and there is no danger from them. It took me an age to gain her consent. If she has any more time to think about it she may back out at the eleventh hour.”

“Is it all settled, girls?” called Mr. Stuart’s voice through the open window.

“Oh, yes,” chorused three gay voices at once.

“Well, I think we’d better be going up to the hotel, then,” cried Miss Sallie. “If I’m to be suffocated by smoke and cinders I think I shall need all the rest I can get beforehand.”

“But, dearest Aunt Sallie,” said Ruth, patting her aunt’s peach-blossom cheek, “the fires are nowhere near Sleepy Hollow. They are miles off in the mountains. And truly, in your heart, I believe you like these little auto jaunts better than any of us.”

“Not at all,” replied the inflexible Miss Stuart. “I am much too old and rheumatic for such nonsense.”

Whereupon she jumped nimbly into the car.

The others all laughed. They understood Miss Sallie pretty well by this time. “She has a stern exterior, but a very melting interior,” Barbara used to say of her.

“Don’t fail to be ready by ten, girls,” called Ruth as she followed her aunt, while Mr. Stuart was offering his adieux to Mrs. Thurston.

“But, Bab,” whispered Mollie, as the automobile disappeared around a curve in the road, “what about the forest fires?”

“Sh-h!” said Barbara, with, a finger on her lip.

And they followed their mother into the house.

The next day was like the day before, very hot and still, the air thick with a smoke-like mist even in that seashore place. It hung over the sea like a heavy fog, and the foghorn could be heard in the distance moaning like a distracted animal calling for its young.

Barbara had refreshed herself by an early morning dip in the ocean, but she felt the oppressive atmosphere in spite of the tingling the cool salt water had given to her skin.

They were seated around the little breakfast table, always so daintily set, for Mrs. Thurston had never lost that quality which had characterized her in her youth and which still clung to her in the days of her hardships and troubles.

“And now, girlies,” she said, “you must promise me one thing. Don’t lose your heads at the wrong time. Not that you ever have before, and I am sure I have no premonitions, now; but remember, my daughters, if anything exciting should happen, to make a little prayer to yourselves; then think hard and the answer is apt to come before you know it.”

“Do you remember how Gladys Le Baron shrieked the time the curtains in her room caught fire?” asked Mollie. “She didn’t do anything but just wring her hands and scream, and it was really Barbara who put the fire out. Bab pulled down the curtains and threw a blanket over them. And then Gladys had hysterics. But Barbara always keeps her head,” added Mollie, proudly.

“Your head is all right, too, Molliekins,” exclaimed Barbara. “The night the man tried to break in the house, don’t you remember, mummie, how brave she was? She followed us up with a poker as bold as a lion.”

“So you did, my pet, and I’m not the least afraid that either one of you ever will be lacking in courage. But, when I was very small, my mother once taught me a little prayer which she made me promise to say to myself whenever I felt the temptation to give way to fear or anger. And many and many a time it has helped me. It was only a few words: ‘Heaven, make me calm in the face of danger,’ but I have never known it to fail.”

“Dearest little mother,” cried Barbara, kissing her mother’s soft cheek, “you’re the best and sweetest little mummie in the world and I’m sure I can’t remember ever having seen you angry or hysterical or any of those terrible things. But if ever I do get in a tight place I hope I shall not forget the little prayer.”

“‘Heaven, make me calm in the face of danger,’” repeated Mollie, softly.

“But, dear me, how gruesome we are!” exclaimed Mrs. Thurston. “It is time you were packing your bags, at any rate, children. Be sure and put in your sweaters. You may need them in spite of this hot wave. And, Mollie, don’t forget the cold cream for your little sunburned nose.”

The two girls ran upstairs to their room. In a few moments they were deep in preparations. By the time the whir of an automobile was heard in the distance they had got into their fresh linen suits and broad-brimmed straw hats, and were waiting on the porch with suit cases and small satchels. Mrs. Thurston looked them over with secret pride.

“Do you see anything lacking, mother?” asked Barbara.

“No, Bab, my dear. I haven’t a word to say. You made a very choice selection in that pink linen, and Mollie was just as happy in her blue one. I never saw neater looking dresses. I hope they won’t wrinkle much. But you can have them pressed at the hotel, I suppose.”

“And don’t forget our automobile coats,” exclaimed Mollie proudly, as she shook out her long pongee duster, last year’s Christmas gift from Ruth. “This is the first time we’ve had a chance to wear them. I feel so grand in mine!” she continued, as she slipped it on. “With all this veil and hat I can almost imagine I am a millionaire.” And she swept up the porch and back with a society air that was perfect. “Good morning,” she said to her mother in a high, affected voice. “Won’t you take a little spin with me in my car? Life is such a bore now at these barbarous seaside places! There is really nothing but bridge and motoring, and one can’t play bridge all the time. Oh, and by the way,” she continued, pretending to look at Bab haughtily, through a lorgnette, “won’t you bring your little girl along? She can sit with the chauffeur.”