, if he should come to any
grief, Rodgers, the coachman, would have to bear responsibility for
being persuaded to let Duke out in such manner.

Just as Sylvie Argenter drew up her pony at the baker's door, Rod
Sherrett came spinning round the corner in grand style. But Duke was
not used to tandem harness, and Red Squirrel, put ahead, took flying
side-leaps now and then on his own account; and Duke, between his
comrade's escapades and his driver's checks and admonitions, was to
that degree perplexed in his mind and excited off his well-bred
balance, that he was by this time becoming scarcely more reliable in
the shafts. Rod found he had his hands full. He found this out,
however, only just in time to realize it, as they were suddenly
relieved and emptied of their charge; for, before his call and the
touch of his long whip could bring back Red Squirrel into line at
this turn, he had sprung so far to the left as to bring Duke and the
"trap" down upon the little phaeton. There was a lock and a crash; a
wheel was off the phaeton, the tandem was overturned, Sylvie
Argenter, in the act of alighting, was thrown forward over the
threshold of the open shop-door, Rod Sherrett was lying in the road,
a man had seized the pony, and Duke and Red Squirrel were shattering
away through the scared Corner Village, with the wreck at their
heels.

Sylvie's arm was bruised, and her dress torn; that was all. She felt
a little jarred and dizzy at first, when Mr. Ingraham lifted her up,
and Rodney Sherrett, picking himself out of the dust with a shake
and a stamp, found his own bones unbroken, and hurried over to ask
anxiously--for he was a kind-hearted fellow--how much harm he had
done, and to express his vehement regret at the "horrid spill."

Rod Sherrett and Sylvie Argenter had danced together at the Roxeter
Assemblies, and the little Dorbury "Germans;" they had boated, and
picknicked, and skated in company, but to be tumbled together into a
baker's shop, torn and frightened, and dusty,--each feeling, also,
in a great scrape,--this was an odd and startling partnership.
Sylvie was pale; Rod was sorry; both were very much demolished as to
dress: Sylvie's hat had got a queer crush, and a tip that was never
intended over her eyes; Rodney's was lying in the street, and his
hair was rumpled and curiously powdered. When they had stood and
looked at each other an instant after the first inquiry and reply,
they both laughed. Then Rodney shrugged