rself."

"That's just what I do mean. It will be gorgeously exciting--and
perfectly safe."

"Safe?"

"Well, of course, I might be killed by a fall or something."

He laughed in spite of himself. "I shall not permit it," he said.

"You will not permit it?" she beamed. "Then I'll ask my guardian. I
may ride Firefly in the steeplechase if I choose, mayn't I, Owen?" she
asked brightly.

Pauline could never bear malice; already she had forgiven Owen, as well
as Harry.

The secretary had just entered and was watching the two with a
questioning eye.

"If we own Firefly, you may," he smiled back at her.

"I told you," she triumphed over Harry.

"But we don't own him," said Owen, puzzled.

"We shall this afternoon. The Lordnor stables are being sold. Please
give me a great deal of money so that I can't be outbid."

"Does Miss Pauline really mean this?" asked the secretary.

"She does," Harry answered in a tone of disgust at what he thought now
was only Owen's weakness. There seemed no chance of a plot against
Pauline in this original scheme of her own.

"She rides wonderfully. I do not see why she should not," Owen
condescended.

"You don't seem to see much of anything," declared Harry.

"But you'll take me to the auction?" coaxed Pauline.

"I'll have to--or you'll spend the whole estate on a Shetland pony."

Owen sauntered from the room, laughing. Bareheaded he walked quite
across the garden and down into the wood-copse by the path gate.

A gypsy was leaning upon the gate and gazing nervously up and down the
road. He turned at the sound of Owen's footsteps, and the eyes of the
young chief, Michel Mario, gazed apprehensively into the smiling eyes
of the secretary.

"How are you, Balthazar?" greeted Owen.

"Don't use that name to me," pleaded the gypsy. "You have work for
me? I have come all the way back from Port Vincent to see you."

"It was kind of you," said Owen with the faintest tinge of sarcasm.
"Yes, I have important work for you. Have you ever doctored a horse,
Balthazar?"

"Many times--but not with my beauty medicine," grinned the chief.

"I mean with a hypodermic needle. I mean a race horse-so that he might
possibly fall in a race."

"And injure the rider?"

"Exactly."

"It is very easy--but very dangerous. I should want--"

"I know; I know," exclaimed Owen petulantly. "Here is the money."

Balthazar gloated over the yellow bills.

"And here is the weapon."

The