steed from his pinnacle on the barrel was none other than Martin Howe.

Resolutely Lucy rose from the wall and, without a glance in the traveler's
direction, set out at a sharp pace along the highway.

She would not ask a favor of Martin Howe if she had to plod every step of
the three scorching miles; and if he were brute enough to let her toil
along in the heat--to walk while he rode--well, that was all she ever
wanted to know about him. Her heart beat tumultuously as she heard the
wheels coming closer.

The horse was beside her now, and the whirl-wind of dust his hoofs raised
made her choke. Would the wagon stop or go on? The horse's head passed
abreast of her, then his white, lathered body. Next the wagon came into
sight, with Martin sitting proudly and stiffly on his perch. Afterward
horse, wagon, and man rolled past, and the girl was left alone.

Her lip trembled. Would he really leave her like this in the dust and
heat? Would he leave even his worst enemy? It was incredible a human being
could be so heartless. And the humiliation of it! To tag along behind him
on foot, smothering in his dust!

Rage possessed her. That should be the end of Mr. Martin Howe! He was no
gentleman. He was not even human.

She sat down on the stone wall once more, waiting for him to disappear and
the dust from his wheels settle.

But to her surprise she saw him come to a stop in the road and, pivoting
around on his perch, face her.

Lucy did not move. She watched him hesitate, waver, then dismount and come
back through the dust.

"If you're on your way home----" he began with clumsy gravity.

The girl smiled up into his face.

"If you're goin' back----" he repeated, and again got no further.

She came to his rescue.

"Have you room to take me in?"

"There ain't much room." She saw the flicker of a smile shadow his face.
"Still, if you don't mind bein' a mite cramped----"

"I don't mind it at all unless it crowds you too much," answered Lucy. "It
is very kind of you." Then she heard herself add without forethought: "I
was afraid you were goin' by."

"I ain't that much of a heathen, I hope," Martin returned gruffly.

Although it was plain he was ill at ease, he helped her into the wagon,
arranging the bags of meal solicitously that she might be as comfortable
as possible. Then he touched the horse with his whip, and they started
off.

"I'm so thankful to have a ride home," sighed Lucy, after waiting a second
or two