saw the pretty lifting of
her red lip above her small white teeth, and, being a young man ready to
leap at desired conclusions, instantly thought of kissing.

"I can't be mistaken," he said elaborately. "This is Miss Dorcas Lee."

Dorcas put her foot on the step and seated herself beside him. Then,
surprised at his success, because she had looked to him like a proud
person, though in a working-gown, he began a wandering apology for
having failed to help her in. Meantime he touched up the beautiful
sorrel, and when they began to fly along the road, and the sorrel's
golden mane was tossing, Dorcas had a brief smiling concurrence with
Alida. To speed like that was perhaps worth the company of Clayton Rand.
He was talking to her, and she answered him demurely, with a dignity not
reassuring from one of her large type and regal air. But presently he
began, by some inner cleverness (for he had a way with him), to tell her
stories about horses, and Dorcas listened, wide-eyed with pleasure. The
way to the knoll was very short, and there she had to stop in the midst
of a racing story that had the movement of the race itself, and bid him
leave her. This time he remembered his manners, and leaped out to help
her gallantly.

"Miss Dorcas," he called her back after her pretty thanks, "I suppose--I
don't half dare to ask you--but you like horses. Just let me take you
over to the Country Club to-morrow, and we can see the racing."

For the space of a second, Dorcas gazed at the toe of her patched
working-boots. She was thinking, in a confused tangle, of Alida and
Newell, and wondering if she had any clothes to wear. Then she lifted
her head quickly in a resolution that looked like triumph.

"Thank you," she said, with a shyness very charming in one of her large
type; "I should be happy to."

"Thank _you_," said Clayton, jumping into the wagon. "I'll be along
about half-past one."

All that day Dorcas bent over the pea-vines and listened to her
thoughts. There were other pickers, but she had no words for them, even
when they sat down together for their luncheon, nor for Newell himself,
coming at night to take her home.

"You're real tired, I guess," he said, as he left her at the gate.

Dorcas flashed a sudden smile at him. It was all mirth and mischief.

"No," she said soberly, "I don't believe I'm tired."

"I'm goin' to Fairfax to see about sellin' the colt to-morrow," said
Newell, from the wagon.

Dorcas nodded.

"Ma