“A  snapshot  smile  from  Evelyn.
 
    Salt  Lake  City,  Utah.”

Now, Salt Lake City was a place of intense interest to the Motor Maids. They regarded it as a traveler in the Orient might look upon one of those mysterious Eastern cities where women went veiled and faces peeped at one from behind obscure gratings.

“Do you suppose this pretty girl is a Mormon?” exclaimed Mary, exhibiting the photograph.

“She is much too pretty to be a Mormon,” said Nancy decisively.

“Can’t Mormons be handsome?” asked Billie, looking at the postcard over Nancy’s shoulder.

“They are just like other people, goosie,” put in Elinor, nevertheless looking at the picture with extreme interest.

“I always imagined the men were tall and thin with lantern jaws and long white beards, and the women were small and plain with straight hair twisted into scraggy little knots behind.”

They were still laughing over Nancy’s vague idea of the citizens of Salt Lake City when the Japanese servant gave them a start by appearing at the door as noiselessly as one who walked on air.

“Luncheon is served,” he announced rapidly in a funny high voice.

It was almost impossible to conceal from him their eagerness to be at table. Nancy secretly hoped there would be fried chicken, but she didn’t care really if only there were no canned vegetables in bird-seed dishes. They all wondered if their host would be able to appear despite his maimed leg.

But he was there to meet them, waiting in the living room of the farmhouse, which was fitted up quite comfortably with big easy chairs, an immense writing table, and many books on shelves lining the walls. Mr. Moore’s wholesome, manly face showed not a trace of the pain he had endured an hour ago, and when he led the way to the dining room, it was with only a slight limp.

“But I thought you had a bad sprain, Mr. Moore,” said Miss Campbell, “and here I find you walking as well as any of us.”

“It’s all gone,” he answered. “I—” he hesitated a moment. “I——”

But the fragrance of the viands about to be set before them drove all other thoughts from their minds.

It was all a curious adventure, indeed. Here was an entire stranger dispensing hospitality to them most graciously, and here were they, even that fastidious and dainty little lady, eating with appetites of starving people.

There was no fried chicken, but there were beefsteak and mushrooms and new potatoes and asparagus, a very fine expensive salad made of grapefruit, and as a last perfect touch, strawberries and cream.

The motor party had planned to leave Mr. Moore’s place half an hour after lunch and start on their travels again, but while they feasted black clouds had been piling themselves into a formidable storm and now came flashes of lightning and the rumble of thunder. The house grew so dark that Takamini lit some candles and placed them on the table.

Then came the rain, pouring in torrents.

Miss Campbell looked uncomfortable.

“I am afraid, Mr. Moore, you have undertaken more than you expected,” she said.

But Mr. Moore was quite equal to this call upon his hospitality. “I hope it will be one of our three-day storms,” he said smiling cordially. “The roads would be far too muddy for motoring then, and I should have the pleasure of entertaining you longer.”

“Oh, we couldn’t let you do that, Mr. Moore. You are too kind. We must go to the next town and stop at the hotel.”

“I assure you, Miss Campbell, you are like messengers from heaven. You came in the nick of time to keep me from being plunged into such a state of gloom I might never have come out of it.”

“But you don’t look gloomy,” protested Nancy.

“I know,” he replied. “People of my complexion never get the credit for being melancholy. But occasionally, you know, we are subject to spasms due chiefly to loneliness, I think.”

They had drifted back into the sitting room now and the rain was beating on the windows in torrents. It was chilly, and they were glad to see Takamini light a wood fire in the open brick fire-place. Miss Campbell, seated in a big leather chair in the chimney corner, dozed off in the warmth of the firelight, her head drooping to one side like a tired little bird’s.

The four girls gathered around the table, while Mr. Moore taking a large atlas from a shelf, opened at the map of the United States and spread it on the table.

“Now,” he said, “tell me about the trip. Are you the captain of the expedition, Miss Billie?”

“Yes,” replied the others in unison.

“Cousin Helen is the general,” said Billie, “and we are just her staff. I am chief guide because I know how to run the motor, but everybody has a place. We could never give these parties if one of us dropped out.”

“Well, it’s a jolly party,” said their host. “You are five very brave ladies, I think. I only know one other as brave.”

“Does she live in Salt Lake City?” asked Nancy innocently.

The other girls looked annoyed and Nancy herself was sorry after she had made this impulsive speech. But Daniel Moore was not at all annoyed. He was only a little surprised.

“Why, yes,” he answered, “you guessed right the very first time. How did it happen?”

“Well,” began Nancy and paused, greatly embarrassed, “I just guessed,” which was a perfectly true statement.

“You are a very good guesser, then, Miss Nancy. Perhaps you would like to see a picture of the young lady who is as brave as you are.”

“Do show it to us,” they exclaimed with enthusiasm.

Mr. Moore opened a table drawer and produced a large photograph of the same beautiful girl whose face they had seen hardly an hour before smiling at them from the postcard.

“How pretty she is!” ejaculated Nancy.

“Isn’t she?” he answered quite frankly.

“And is she a Mormon?” demanded Mary.

“She isn’t; but her father is,” he answered, a frown wrinkling his brow. “Her father is the most confounded old Mormon that ever grew up in the faith. He thinks that all non-Mormons are just kittle-kattle.”

“And is that the reason—” began Nancy, while her friends trembled for fear of what the inquisitive child would ask next.

“The reason I was so blue?” he asked gently. “It certainly was. You guessed right again. If you had six guesses, I believe you would get six secrets from me, Miss Nancy,” he laughed.

“Then you are not a Mormon?” asked Billie.

“Most assuredly not. I was born in Kentucky, educated at Harvard and settled on this farm my uncle left me three years ago. But before that I spent some time in Salt Lake City.”