se was to recognize the _status quo_. . . Still, Mr. Allan
Forsyth was unnecessarily self-assured. He might have made it less
evident that he was within the enchanted circle, while Dave remained
outside. His complacence irritated Dave almost into rivalry. But the
boon camaraderie of Edith herself checked any adventure of that kind.
She checked it in two ways; by her own frank acceptance of him much as
she would have accepted a brother in the household, and by her uncanny
and unconscious knack of reminding him in almost every word and gesture
of Reenie Hardy. She was of about the same figure as Reenie Hardy; a
little slighter, perhaps; and about the same age; and she had the same
quick, frank eyes. And she sang wonderfully. He had never heard
Reenie sing, but in some strange way he had formed a deep conviction
that she would sing much as Edith sang. He was not yet psychologist
enough to know that his admiration for Edith was the reflex action to
his love for the girl who had so wonderfully invaded his foothill life
and so wonderfully changed the current of his destinies. In love, as
in religion, man is forever setting up idols to represent his
ideals. . . And forever finding feet of clay.

Dave was not long in discovering that his engagement as coachman was a
device, born of Mr. Duncan's kindness, to enable him to accept
instruction without feeling under obligation for it. When he made this
discovery, he smiled quietly to himself, and pretended not to have made
it. Two things were apparent after their first drive; that nothing was
further from the minds of Mr. Duncan's bays than anything which called
for so much exertion as a runaway, and that, even had they been so
disposed, Edith was entirely competent to manage them. The girl had
not lived in the foothill town since childhood without becoming
something of a horse-woman. But Dave pretended not to know that he was
a supernumerary. To have acted otherwise would have seemed ungrateful
to Mr. Duncan. And presently the drives began to have a strange
attraction of themselves.

When they drove in the two-seated buggy on Sunday afternoons the party
usually comprised Mrs. Duncan and Edith, young Forsyth and Dave. Mr.
Duncan was interested in certain Sunday afternoon meetings. It was
Mrs. Duncan's custom to sit in the rear seat, for its better riding
qualities, and it had a knack of falling about that Edith would ride in
the front seat with the driver. She ca