ing hell for leather, with a dishevelled boy
in khaki on his back. The boy had lost his stirrups; he had lost his
reins; he had lost his head. He hung half over the saddle and had a
death grip on the horse's mane. And the uncontrolled brute was
thundering down on us. There was my infernal car barring the narrow
road. I remember bracing myself to meet the shock. An end, thought I,
of Duncan Meredyth. I saw Boyce leap aside like a flash and appear to
stand stock-still. The next second I saw Marigold semaphore a few yards
in front of the car and then swing sickeningly at the horse's bit; and
then the whole lot of them, Marigold, horse and rider, come down in a
convulsive heap on the greasy road. To my intense relief I saw Marigold
pick himself up and go to the head of the plunging, prostrate horse. In
a moment or two he had got the beast on his feet, where he stood
quivering. It was a fine, smart piece of work on the part of the old
artilleryman. I was so intent on his danger that I forgot all about
Boyce: but as soon as the three crashed down, I saw him run to assist
the young subaltern who had rolled himself clear.

"By Jove, that was a narrow shave!" he cried cordially, giving him a
hand.

"It was indeed, sir," said the young man, scraping the mud off his
face. "That's the second time the brute has done it. He shies and bucks
and kicks like a regular devil. This time he shied at a steam lorry and
bucked my feet out of the stirrups. Everybody in the squadron has
turned him down, and I'm the junior, I've had to take him." He eyed the
animal resentfully. "I'd just like to get him on some grass and knock
hell out of him!"

"I'm glad to see you're not hurt," said Boyce with a smile.

"Oh, not a bit, sir," said the boy. He turned to Marigold. "I don't
know how to thank you. It was a jolly plucky thing to do. You've saved
my life and that of the gentleman in the car. If we had busted into it,
there would have been pie." He came to the side of the car. "I think
you're Major Meredyth, sir. I must have given you an awful fright. I'm
so sorry. My name is Brown. I'm in the South Scottish Horse."

He had a courteous charm of manner in spite of his boyish desire to
appear unshaken by the accident. A little bravado is an excellent
thing. I laughed and held out my hand.

"I'm glad to meet you--although our meeting might have been contrived
less precipitously. This is Sergeant Marigold, late R.F.A., who does me
the honour of look