t away to the fields. This was their last drive. To-morrow the
horses would be sent on; and the next day they would all go--in the
great touring car that would eat up the miles, and pass the horses, and
reach Idlewood long before them.

No one except Betty and Miss Stone used the horses now. They would have
been sold long ago had it not been for the child. The carriage was a
part of her--and the clicking hoofs and soft-shining skins and arching
necks. The sound of the hoofs on the pavement played little tunes for
Betty. Her mother had protested against expense, and her father had
grumbled a little; but if the child wanted a carriage rather than the
great car that could whir her away in a breath, it must be kept.

It made a pretty picture this morning as it turned into the busier
street and took its way among the dark, snorting cars that pushed
and sped. It was like a delicate dream that shimmered and touched the
pavement--or like a breath of the past... and the great cars skimmed
around it and pushed on with quick honk and left it far behind.

But the carriage kept its way with unhurried rhythm--into the busy
street and out again into a long avenue where great houses of cement and
grey stone stood guard.

No one was in sight, up and down its clear length--only the morning sun
shining on the grey stones and on the pavement--and the little jingling
in the harness and the joyous child and the quiet grey woman beside her.

"I shall not be gone a minute, Betty," said Miss Stone. The carriage had
drawn up before the great shadow of a house. She gave the child's hand a
little pat and stepped from the carriage.

But at the door there was a minute's question and, with a nod to Betty,
she stepped inside.

When the door opened again, and she came out with quick step she glanced
at her watch--the errand had taken more than its minute, and there
were others to be done, and they were late. She lifted her eyes to the
carriage--and stopped.

The coachman, from the corner of his eye, waited for orders. But Miss
Stone did not stir. Her glance swept the quiet street and came back to
the carriage--standing with empty cushions in the shadow of the house.

The coachman turned a stolid eye and caught a glimpse of her face and
wheeled quickly--his eye searching space. "There wa'n't nobody!" he
said. He almost shouted it, and his big hands gripped hard on the
reins.... His face was grey--"There wa'n't nobody here!" he repeated
dully.