Youth asserts itself quickly after a shock. That is, when it is wholesome youth with a good appetite and a good circulation, and after one day in bed Billie was up and about, eager to be on the road again.

But the incident of the bull and the encounter with the Duke of Kilkenty had set Miss Campbell thinking.

“I am of the opinion, my dear,” she observed to her cousin, “that we need a protector. It’s true we crossed the continent without one and got on pretty well; but America is a free land and people are not so ridden by aristocracy as they are in this kingdom. I asked Feargus to come, and even offered to pay him a salary as our courier, because I know the boy is quite poor, but he could not accept until he had received permission from Mr. Kalisch.”

There was a tap at the door, and Feargus, looking very agitated, entered the room.

“I have come to accept your offer, Miss Campbell, if it is still open,” he said.

“Of course, Feargus, we are very glad. But what has happened? You look as if you had seen a ghost, or suffered a nervous shock.”

Feargus made an unsuccessful attempt to smile.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Something unpleasant did occur, but I shall be all right by to-morrow, I daresay. Do we start early?”

“Quite early,” answered Billie. “We want to be in Oxford by one o’clock at the latest.”

“I shall meet you, then, on the road to Oxford a few miles from St. Albans. I will be walking and you can overtake me. Until then, good-by. Oh, yes,” he said, coming back into the room. “Would you mind not mentioning to any one that I am going?”

He left the room, leaving them wondering at his mysterious behavior.

Did he mean that they were not to mention it to Telemac Kalisch, who, having heard that they were staying at the hotel, presented himself at their sitting-room? He heard the story of the bull and of how Mary had outwitted the Duke of Kilkenty.

“I would not take a fortune for that,” he exclaimed, giving the young girl a brilliant, delightful smile. “The low brute! He was worse than his own dead beast, because God has endowed him with intelligence, which he uses only to gain wealth and rob the poor. He is one of the greatest scoundrels in all England and one of the richest. None of his family will have anything to do with him; neither his stepmother, the present dowager Duchess of Kilkenty, nor his half-brother, Lord Glenarm. He is so powerful that he is feared almost as much as he is disliked. But,” here Telemac lowered his voice, “it is said that he has lent large sums in high places and for that reason he is safe. But he is not safe. No one is safe. There is a hand that smites in the dark, and some day it will strike the Duke of Kilkenty!”

Telemac had risen as he made this dire prophecy, which he spoke in an emphatic whisper. It was impossible not to feel impressed at his words; but suddenly, becoming aware of their serious faces and wide-stretched eyes, he sat down and began to laugh.

“What an absurd old person you must think me,” he exclaimed, “to frighten you like this about a man we all have our reasons for disliking. Let us change the subject.”

After talking gayly about other things, he presently left, and they were rather glad, for some reason, that they had not mentioned that their young Irish friend was about to journey north with them in the motor car.

They did not see Telemac next morning when they took the road to Oxford, which lay through the most charming country imaginable, rolling and green, and dotted with lovely villages.

Feargus joined them a few miles out of St. Albans, as he had promised, his kit of belongings strapped to his back; and they started in good earnest to Oxford Town, the day still before them.

A little before one o’clock they found themselves on the summit of a hill, and below them, its many towers and spires gilded by the afternoon sun, lay the ancient city of Oxford. Like a dream picture it was, this gray old town which seemed to be floating on a violet mist. Then, as they drew nearer and its buildings took on form and shape, they could see plainly the belfries and spires of its many churches and of the twenty-two colleges of the University.

The scarlet motor, speeding up Broad Street, was like a bird of brilliant plumage that had lost its way in a strange land. They inquired and were directed to a hotel, an old Tudor building, and here the dashing “Comet” presently paused.

It would have been neither natural nor human if the hearts of the Motor Maids had not beat a shade faster at sight of so many handsome, athletic young college men in the streets, students of the twenty-two colleges. Many carried books under their arms and some wore their academic robes and square hats. Even Miss Campbell, past the age of frivolities, could not resist a feeling of pleasure at sight of so much youth and good looks passing along the quiet streets. But young Englishmen are very bashful, as every American girl knows who has visited this famous seat of learning; and most of the students pretended to ignore the fact that they had attracted the attention of five inquisitive ladies.

“It always gives me a kind of lonesome feeling when people won’t notice me,” Nancy observed, as they followed a boy who appeared to be entirely outlined with buttons into the hotel.

“That’s because you never could stand being a wall flower, Nancy-Bell,” said Elinor. “Your name is not Nancy-Bell for nothing.”

“Well, I should like to meet some of those nice blonde young men with such healthy, rosy cheeks,” began Nancy, “just to see what they are like and if they are really as bashful as they appear.”

“You’ll probably get your wish. You always do, Nancy,” observed Billie.

And she did. What instinct was it that directed their feet that afternoon toward the very place of all others where they were most likely to meet old friends? They were strolling on Magdalen Bridge (pronounced Maudlin) toward Magdalen Tower, and had just paused to look down into the waters of the River Cherwell, when three young men, walking arm in arm and keeping step like soldiers, unexpectedly stopped short in front of them.

One of them, who had a freckled face and very red hair, cried out:

“Billie, Nancy, Elinor, Mary! As I live, it’s the Motor Maids,” and with that he endeavored to embrace the whole group at once with two long, encircling arms.

The other two young men, who were exactly alike even to their gray suits and straw hats, shouted joyfully:

“Miss Campbell and the Motor Maids! Isn’t this great? Where did you come from?”

“Well, of all the amazing things,” exclaimed Billie, when she could find her voice, “if it isn’t the two Edwards and Timothy Peppercorn!”

Doubtless you will recall the two Edward Paxtons, American and English cousins, and their friend, Timothy Peppercorn, who appeared in the second volume of these stories, “The Motor Maids by Palm and Pine.”

Everybody talked at once and there was a perfect maze of conversation, but through the current of news and youthful chatter, it was finally arranged that they were to drink tea at the lodgings of the young men that very afternoon and perhaps later go canoeing on the river.

“We are all students at Magdalen College and we have rooms together in the jolliest old place you ever saw,” announced Timothy.

“But how did it happen that you became so educational all of a sudden?” demanded Elinor. “I thought you were to be a musician, Edward?” she added turning to the English cousin.

Edward’s face became very red.

“So did I until my grandmother granted her permission, and then I decided it would be more fun to go to college with Edward and Timothy.”

“And I thought you were to be an engineer, Timothy?” said Billie.

“It’s this enterprising American Edward who’s done it all,” answered Timothy. “We couldn’t bear to be separated from him, English Eddie and I couldn’t, so that’s why we entered this seat of wisdom and learning. But it is a great experience. I’m not sorry for the work I had to do to get in.”

“And here we are at the most beautiful college in Oxford,” continued the American Edward proudly. “I had a tough pull, too, and studied day and night, but I’m here and it’s great.”

He led the way up that famous High Street which Hawthorne said was the noblest old street in England, turned to the left and finally conducted them through a gateway into the beautiful Quadrangle of St. Mary Magdalen College. They climbed the Magdalen Tower where at five in the morning on every first day of May the choir still sings a Latin hymn. From the summit of this ancient tower they saw the lovely little river, the verdant banks of which were dotted with students.

“And now, let us lead you gently to the tea table,” said Timothy.

“But what about Feargus, Cousin Helen?” asked Billie. “Were we not to meet him in time for tea?”

“And who is Feargus?” demanded the boys.

“He is a firebrand young Irishman who is conducting us on this trip.”

Now, it so happened that the two Paxtons had an important engagement that would take them away for half an hour and Timothy was to do the honors of their lodgings until their return. Billy and Elinor had already strolled on ahead with the Paxtons; so that there was really no objection to be made, when Nancy offered to go back to the hotel and look for Feargus.

“The real reason I want to go,” she confided to Miss Campbell, “is to change my hat. I can’t bear this ugly old motor hat I am wearing, and if I had on the one with the pink lining, I’d feel much happier.”

“Very well, dear,” said Miss Campbell, smiling indulgently over Nancy’s vanities, “go along and get your other hat if it will improve your state of mind.”

“First show me exactly how to get to the lodgings,” Nancy asked of Timothy.

“You can’t miss it,” he said. “You have only to come back on this same street. Do you see that gray house over there with the white steps and the white front door? Ring the bell and ask for our rooms and the maid will show you up. Have you got it straight?”

“Certainly,” answered Nancy. “My mind is active enough to grasp a gray house with white front steps and a maid to show me up.”

With an impudent toss of her head, she hastened away on her errand, already in her mind’s eye putting on the hat with the pink lining, under the drooping brim of which she felt herself to become an irresistible person.

Feargus was not at the hotel. He had left a note stating that he had gone for a walk and would be back in time for dinner. Nancy felt irritated. He was a moody soul, that Irishman: one day in high spirits and the next in the depths. She pinned on the hat and looked at herself in the glass.

Now really, how pretty she was! What a beguiling face, to be sure! Her cheeks seemed pinker under the shadow of the drooping rose-lined brim, and her laughing blue eyes added luster to the soft oval of her face.

“I think I am looking rather well,” she said to herself, patting a curl or two and giving her gray brilliantine frock a little jerk, as she hurried out again.

Her mind filled with her own charms and the joy of living in a world so happy and beautiful, she left the ancient hostelry and turned her face toward Magdalen College and her friends’ lodgings. Crossing the bridge, she let her glance wander along the green stretches of meadow beyond, with lovely glimpses of river scenery and wooded landscape.

And now, once over the bridge, she must cross the street, go a little way up another, and there, to be sure, was the gray house with the white steps. She marched up triumphantly.

“Who says I’m a dunce?” she demanded of her innermost self.

She rang the bell and the sound echoed through the house, but no one came to the door. Again she pulled the handle and the brazen call might have been heard through all Oxford, resounding far and near with a hundred reverberations. Then there floated to her from above a chorus of men’s voices. This was the song they sang:

“The story of Frederick Gowler,

A mariner of the sea,

Who quitted his ship, ‘The Howler,’

A-sailing in Caribbee.

For many a day he wandered

Till he met, in a state of rum,

Calamity Pop Von Peppermint Drop,

The King of Canoodle-Dum.”

All this time Nancy was ringing the bell impatiently. Finally a voice called down the stair-way:

“Why don’t you come up?”

Nancy flushed angrily. It was hardly polite of Timothy Peppercorn not to meet her at the door. She wondered at Miss Campbell for permitting such rudeness. She wondered at herself for enduring it. And she rang the bell again so hard that it came out by the roots and dangled at the side of the door, disqualified for useful service ever again; but her blood was up now, and flinging the door wide open with a gesture of haughty exasperation, she ran upstairs as fast as she could.

She paused at the first open door on the upper landing, where there continued to issue a loud volume of sound; a chorus of robust tenors, baritones and basses, all mingling in one enormous, crushing wave of harmony:

“Bang-bang, how the tom-toms thundered!

Bang-bang, how they thumped the gongs!

Bang-bang, how the people won——”

Nancy walked timidly into the room. Through a haze of tobacco smoke as thick as a London fog she made out some hundreds of young men, more or less. At least it seemed to her an immense number. As a matter of fact, there were only eight of them sitting about on the table and benches. And from the mouth of each young man there poured forth a pillar of smoke as from the chimney of a factory.

When Nancy stood framed in the doorway like an unexpected apparition of spring, the silence of the tomb fell on the company.