ced before them, caught the ball with a swinging,
back-handed stroke and drove it directly toward his opponent's goal.
Instantly whirling his mount, Avery raced away after the ball, and with
another clean stroke scored a goal. Every one about cried out in
approbation.

"He's very quick and clever, isn't he?" Harriet said to Eaton.

Eaton nodded. "Yes; he's by all odds the most skillful man on the
field, I should say."

The generosity of the praise impelled the girl, somehow, to qualify it.
"But only two others really have played much--that man and that."

"Yes, I picked them as the experienced ones," Eaton said quietly.

"The others--two of them, at least--are out for the first time, I
think."

They watched the rapid course of the ball up and down the field, the
scurry and scamper of the ponies after it, then the clash of a melee
again.

Two ponies went down, and their riders were flung. When they arose,
one of the least experienced boys limped apologetically from the field.
Avery rode to the barrier.

"I say, any of you fellows, don't you want to try it? We're just
getting warmed up."

Harriet glanced at the group Avery had addressed; she knew nearly all
of them--she knew too that none of them were likely to accept the
invitation, and that Avery must be as well aware of that as she was.
Avery, indeed, scarcely glanced at them, but looked over to Eaton and
gave the challenge direct.

"Care to take a chance?"

Harriet Santoine watched her companion; a sudden flush had come to his
face which vanished, as she turned, and left him almost pale; but his
eyes glowed. Avery's manner in challenging him, as though he must
refuse from fear of such a fall as he just had witnessed, was not
enough to explain Eaton's start.

"How can I?" he returned.

"If you want to play, you can," Avery dared him. "Furden"--that was
the boy who had just been hurt--"will lend you some things; his'll just
about fit you; and you can have his mounts."

Harriet continued to watch Eaton; the challenge had been put so as to
give him no ground for refusal but timidity.

"You don't care to?" Avery taunted him deftly.

"Why don't you try it?" Harriet found herself saying to him.

He hesitated. She realized it was not timidity he was feeling; it was
something deeper and stronger than that. It was fear; but so plainly
it was not fear of bodily hurt that she moved instinctively toward him
in sympathy. He looked swiftly at Avery, t