l capital, he started the building of the
theatre himself; for he alone had vision for the two hundred thousand
new people that were coming to the town.

But no matter what pressure was on Daylight, his Sundays he reserved
for his riding in the hills. It was not the winter weather, however,
that brought these rides with Dede to an end. One Saturday afternoon in
the office she told him not to expect to meet her next day, and, when
he pressed for an explanation:

"I've sold Mab."

Daylight was speechless for the moment. Her act meant one of so many
serious things that he couldn't classify it. It smacked almost of
treachery. She might have met with financial disaster.

It might be her way of letting him know she had seen enough of him.
Or...

"What's the matter?" he managed to ask.

"I couldn't afford to keep her with hay forty-five dollars a ton," Dede
answered.

"Was that your only reason?" he demanded, looking at her steadily; for
he remembered her once telling him how she had brought the mare through
one winter, five years before, when hay had gone as high as sixty
dollars a ton.

"No. My brother's expenses have been higher, as well, and I was driven
to the conclusion that since I could not afford both, I'd better let
the mare go and keep the brother."

Daylight felt inexpressibly saddened. He was suddenly aware of a great
emptiness. What would a Sunday be without Dede? And Sundays without
end without her? He drummed perplexedly on the desk with his fingers.

"Who bought her?" he asked. Dede's eyes flashed in the way long since
familiar to him when she was angry.

"Don't you dare buy her back for me," she cried. "And don't deny that
that was what you had in mind."

"I won't deny it. It was my idea to a tee. But I wouldn't have done
it without asking you first, and seeing how you feel about it, I won't
even ask you. But you thought a heap of that mare, and it's pretty
hard on you to lose her. I'm sure sorry. And I'm sorry, too, that you
won't be riding with me tomorrow. I'll be plumb lost. I won't know
what to do with myself."

"Neither shall I," Dede confessed mournfully, "except that I shall be
able to catch up with my sewing."

"But I haven't any sewing."

Daylight's tone was whimsically plaintive, but secretly he was
delighted with her confession of loneliness. It was almost worth the
loss of the mare to get that out of her. At any rate, he meant
something to her. He was not