Ashton waved to her. She waved back. A few moments later they were
close together. As she spun her pony around, he pulled in his horse to
a walk, patting the beast's neck and speaking to him caressingly.

"Back already?" she asked. "Surely, you've not been to Stockchute--Yes,
you have!" Her experienced eye was taking in every indication of his
horse's condition. "He's been traveling; but you've handled him well."

"He's grand!" said Ashton. "Been putting him through his paces. I
suppose he is your father's best mount."

"Daddy and Kid ride him when they're in a hurry or there's no other
horse handy."

"You can't mean--? Then perhaps I can have him again occasionally."

"You like him, really?"

"All he needs is a little management," replied Ashton, again patting
the horse's lean neck.

"If you wish to take him in hand, I'll assign him to you. No one else
wants him."

"As your rural deliveryman's mount--" began Ashton. He stopped to show
the bulging bag slung under his arm. "Here's the mail. Do you wish
your letters now?"

"Thank you, no."

"Here is this, however," he said, handing her a folded slip of paper.

She opened it and looked at the writing inside. It was a receipt from
the postmaster at Stockchute to Lafayette Ashton for certain letters
delivered for mailing. The address of the letter to Thomas Blake was
given in full. The girl colored, bit her lip, and murmured
contritely: "You have turned the tables on me. I deserved it!"

"Please don't take it that way!" he begged. "My purpose was merely to
assure you the letter was mailed. After all, I am a stranger, Miss
Knowles."

"No, not now," she differed.

"It's very kind of you to say it! Yet it's just as well for me to
start off with no doubts in your mind, in view of the fact that in two
or three weeks--"

"Yes?" she asked, as he hesitated.

"I--Your father will hardly keep me more than two weeks, unless--unless
I make good," he answered.

"I guess you needn't worry about that," she replied, somewhat
ambiguously.

He shrugged. "It is very good of you to say it, Miss Knowles. I know I
shall fail. Can you expect anyone who has always lived within touch of
millions, one who has spent more in four years at college than all
this range is worth--He cut my allowance repeatedly, until it was only
a beggarly twenty-five thousand."

"Twenty-five thousand dollars!" exclaimed Isobel. "You had all that
to--to throw away in a single year?"

"He cut