e horse off somewhere to a farm in the
country.

"I'd have turned horse thief before I'd have let her get on him again,"
he said. "I bought the brute, so I had the best right to dispose of him
as I wanted to."

"Well, I hope you'll do better next time," I returned. "Sally has got
some absurd idea in her head about rivalling Bonny Marshall, but she
never will because she isn't built that way."

"No, she isn't built that way," he agreed, "and I'm glad of it. When I
want a boy I'd rather have him in breeches than in skirts. Is she out of
bed yet?"

"She was up this morning, and on the point of telephoning to the stables
when I left the house."

He laughed softly. "Well, my word goes at the stables," he rejoined, "so
you needn't worry. I'll not let any harm come to her."

The tone in which he spoke, pleasant as it was, wounded my pride of
possession in some inexplicable manner. Sally was safe! It was all taken
out of my hands, and the only thing that remained for me was to return
with a tranquil mind to my affairs. In spite of myself this constant
beneficent intervention of George in my life fretted my temper. If he
would only fail sometimes! If he would only make a mistake! If he would
only attend to his own difficulties, and leave mine to go wrong if they
pleased!

This was on my way up-town in the afternoon, and when I reached home, I
found Sally lying on a couch in her upstairs sitting-room, with an uncut
novel in her hands.

"Ben, did you sell Beauchamp?" she asked, as I entered, and her tone was
full of suppressed resentment, of indignant surprise.

"I'm sorry to say I didn't, dear," I responded cheerfully, "for I should
certainly have done so if George hadn't been too quick for me."

"It was George, then," she said, and her voice lost its resentment.

"Yes, it was George--everything is George," I retorted, in an irascible
tone.

Her eyebrows arched, not playfully as they were used to do, but in
surprise or perplexity.

"He has been very good to me all my life," she answered quietly.

"I know, I know," I said, repenting at once of my temper, "and if you
want another horse, Sally, you shall have it--George will find you a
gentle one this time."

She shook her head, smiling a little.

"I don't want a gentle one. I wanted Beauchamp, and since he has gone I
don't think I care to ride any more. Bonny is right, I suppose, I could
never keep up with her."

"Just as you like, sweetheart, but for my part