for that; neither could he expect a girl who had fallen in love
with, and purchased, a saddle horse within the short space of fifteen
minutes, to wait for it to be sent leisurely home. But it occurred to
him that she might have been willing to let the mare trot lightly
along the road just ahead of the blacks, where Betty's nearness might
least disconcert Tim and Tom, and where she might now and then
exchange a word with their driver over her shoulder--even that cool
shoulder of hers.

All at once he caught sight of the brown mare. As he approached a fork
in the road, Miss Farnsworth and Betty came galloping up the east
split of the fork--the one which did not lead toward Hempstead Farms.
He laughed to himself, for he perceived at once that she had taken the
wrong road and was spurring to get back to the fork before he should
have passed.

But in this she did not succeed. Jarvis reached the corner before her.
He drew up a little to let her in ahead of him, for the road was
narrow. But as she neared him she motioned him ahead, and to humor her
when he could he went on, though he doubted the wisdom of letting the
blacks hear Betty's sharp-ringing little hoofs at their heels.

"How do you like her?" he called, as he passed, managing a shift of
the reins and an uplifted hat. He smiled at her quite as if he had
nothing in the world against her, though he was feeling at the moment
that the brute creation are not the only things which need a certain
amount of taming.

"Oh, she's a dear," answered Miss Farnsworth, in a voice as sweet as a
flute. "Isn't she the prettiest thing? She's a perfect
saddle-horse--except for the tricks I haven't found out yet."

She was smiling back at him, all traces of petulance smoothed quite
out of her face. Her cheeks were brilliantly pink, her hair blown by
the breeze. She carried her wide-brimmed straw hat on the pommel of
her saddle; evidently it had not proved satisfactory as a riding hat.
Altogether, in the brief chance he had for observation, Jarvis was of
the notion that there might be two opinions as to what creature was
the prettiest thing on the Crofton road that day.

There was not much talk possible. There could be no question that Tim
and Tom heard Betty coming on behind them, and were exercised thereby.
The mare's stride was shorter than that of the colts; her hoofbeats
reached them in quicker rhythm than their own. As a small clock
ticking beside a big one seems to say to the