but, a few minutes later, there was Basil
pleading with Mrs. Stanton to let him take Phyllis home, and there was
Crittenden politely asking the privilege of taking Judith into his
buggy. The girl looked embarrassed, but when Mrs. Stanton made a
gracious feint of giving up her trip to town, Judith even more
graciously declined to allow her, and, with a smile to Crittenden, as
though he were a conscious partner in her effort to save Mrs. Stanton
trouble, gave him her hand and was helped into the smart trap, with its
top pressed flat, its narrow seat and a high-headed, high-reined,
half-thoroughbred restive between the slender shafts; and a moment
later, smiled a good-by to the placid lady, who, with a sigh that was
half an envious memory, half the throb of a big, kind heart, turned to
her own carriage, assuring herself that it really was imperative for her
to drive to town, if for no other reason than to see that her
mischievous boy got out of town with the younger Crittenden's brake.

Judith and Crittenden were out of the push of cart, carriage, wagon, and
street-car now, and out of the smoke and dust of the town, and
Crittenden pulled his horse down to a slow trot. The air was clear and
fragrant and restful. So far, the two had spoken scarcely a dozen words.
Crittenden was embarrassed--he hardly knew why--and Judith saw it, and
there was a suppressed smile at the corners of her mouth which
Crittenden did not see.

"It's too bad."

Crittenden turned suddenly.

"It's a great pleasure."

"For which you have Mrs. Stanton to thank. You would have got it for
yourself five--dear me; is it possible?--five years ago."

"Seven years ago," corrected Crittenden, grimly. "I was more
self-indulgent seven years ago than I am now."

"And the temptation was greater then."

The smile at her mouth twitched her lips faintly, and still Crittenden
did not see; he was too serious, and he kept silent.

The clock-like stroke of the horse's high-lifted feet came sharply out
on the hard road. The cushioned springs under them creaked softly now
and then, and the hum of the slender, glittering spokes was noiseless
and drowsy.

"You haven't changed much," said Judith, "except for the better."

"You haven't changed at all. You couldn't--for better or worse."

Judith smiled dreamily and her eyes were looking backward--very far
backward. Suddenly they were shot with mischief.

"Why, you really don't seem to--" she hesitated--"to like me