“Catechism for travelers,” announced Babe. “Query one: How do you go through the Trossachs? Answer: In a rain. I know what you’re going to say, Betty, but I’ve talked to all the people on board who’ve been through before or who’ve had friends who’ve been through, and that’s the correct answer. Query two: What is a Trossach coach? Answer: A place where everybody’s umbrella drips on everybody else and pokes your hat off, and you wish you were snug at home by the fire. Besides, they aren’t coaches at all; they’re nothing but four-seated mountain-wagons. And I thought coaching was going to be one of the most glorious joys of the summer!” Babe sighed and carefully emptied the water out of the wrinkles in her ulster.