s she would follow."

Ralph did not in the least object to hold the smoothly gloved little hand
in his own, but he was really afraid that the girl would be hurt, if she
persisted in this attempt to make a halter of herself. If he released his
hold, he was sure she would be jerked face forward into the mire, or at
least be obliged to step into it; and as for the mare, it was plain to be
seen that she did not intend to come any nearer the shed. He therefore
doubled his entreaties that she would let the beast go, as it made no
difference whether she ran into the fields or not. He could easily catch
her again, or the man could.

"I don't want to let her go," said Dora. "Your sister would have a pretty
opinion of me when she is ready to take her drive, and finds that I have
let her horse run away; and, besides, I don't like to give up things. Do
you like to give up things? I am sure you don't, for I saw you bringing
this horse into the yard, and you were very determined about it. If I let
her go, all your determination and trouble will have been for nothing. I
should not like that. Come, come, you obstinate creature, just two steps
forward. I have some lumps of sugar in my pocket which I keep to give to
our horses, but of course I can't get it with both my hands occupied. I
wish I had thought of the sugar. By the way, the sugar is not in my
pocket; after all, it is in this little bag on my belt; I don't suppose
you could reach it."

Ralph stretched out his other hand, but he could not reach the little
leather bag with its silver clasp. If he could have jumped out of the
window, he would have done so without hesitation, but the aperture was
not large enough. He could not help being amused by the dilemma in which
he was placed by this young lady's inflexibility. He did not know a girl,
his sister not excepted, whom, under the circumstances, he would not have
left to the consequences of what he would have called her obstinacy. But
there was something about Dora--some sort of a lump of sugar--which
prevented him from letting go of her hand.

"I never saw a horse," said she, "nor, indeed, any sort of a living
thing, which was so unwilling to come to me. You are very good to hold me
so strongly, and I am sure I don't mind waiting a little longer, until
some one comes by."

"There is no one to come by," exclaimed Ralph, "and I most earnestly
beg of you--"

At this moment the horse began to back; Miss Dora's fingers nervously