CHAPTER SIX
Tongues in Trees
“E
ase
her a bit! Ease her! Now hang on or she’ll go in the river.”
Amanda, breathless and crimson with exertion, clung to the archaic steering arm of the old brougham.
Mr. Campion, who was pushing the cumbersome vehicle up the dangerous slope to the coach-house of the mill, did as he was told.
“If only Scatty was a proper chauffeur,” Amanda observed, as they tucked this great-great-grandmother of electric transport into an old striped-canvas shroud. “If only Scatty was a proper chauffeur he could do all this shoving.”
“That’s right,” said Mr. Campion brightly. “Or if he was a horse.”
Amanda regarded him coldly. “You admitted the car looked very well outside the house,” she said with dignity. “You’re probably one of those people like Hal who don’t beli
