ht have been hurt. Let us go home quickly; I am
near to faint. Thank Heaven no one saw. Madame would never forgive such
a disgrace."

"But some one ought to interfere," protested Marjorie, her wrath
beginning to cool, "and there wasn't anybody else to do it. I would have
taken that whip away from him if I could, but he was so strong, and he
has hurt my wrist."

"Hurt your wrist! Let me see. Ah, but it is red. How could you have held
on so tight? Come home quickly, and we will bathe it with arnica. How
fortunate that Madame and Mademoiselle Elsie are away! Ah, here comes
the young gentleman, Mademoiselle Elsie's friend from the hotel; he must
not know that anything is wrong."

But Marjorie had no intention of keeping her indignation to herself, and
she turned to greet Beverly Randolph with eyes that flashed and cheeks
that tingled.

"Oh, Mr. Randolph," she exclaimed, as the young man smilingly took off
his hat, and paused beside her, "the most dreadful thing has
happened. A cruel, wicked boy has been ill-treating a poor old horse.
The poor creature had a terribly heavy load, and when he refused to go
any further, the boy beat him, and--"

"Where is he?" inquired Beverly, his own eyes beginning to flash. "I'll
report the case to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to
Animals."

"He has gone," said Marjorie, regretfully. "He gave the horse a dreadful
cut with the whip, and it was so frightened it started, and then he
jumped into the wagon and went off. I tried to get the whip away from
him, but he was terribly strong, and he hurt my wrist so much I had to
let go."

Beverly Randolph's face was a mixture of astonishment, amusement and
horror.

"You don't mean that you tackled the fellow yourself?" he demanded
incredulously.

Marjorie nodded. Now that the excitement was over she was beginning to
feel a little startled at what she had done.

"I had to," she said humbly; "there wasn't any one else to do it.
Hortense thinks it was very unladylike, but I don't see what else I
could have done. I couldn't just stand by and do nothing while that
poor horse was being ill-treated."

"No, I don't suppose you could," said Beverly, smiling. "I don't think I
would do it again, though; you might get hurt. Hello! what's the
matter?--don't you feel well?"

For Marjorie had suddenly grown very pale, and leaned against the
lamp-post.

"It's--it's my wrist," she faltered; "it hurts dreadfully, and--and I
think I feel a