the rutted street, while the light
vehicle rocked in an alarming fashion, and Prescott had some trouble in
restraining them when they ran out on to the dim waste of prairie. Then
the wonderful keen air, faintly scented with wild peppermint, reacted
upon the girl with a curious exhilarating effect. She felt stirred and
excited, expectant of new experiences, perhaps adventures. The wild
barley brushed about the wheels with a silky rustle; the beat of hoofs
rang in a sharp staccato through the deep silence; and the touch of the
faint night wind brought warmth into Muriel's face.

"They're pretty fresh; been in the stable of a farm near here most of the
day," Prescott explained. "Not long off the range, anyhow, and they're
bad to hold."

There was a shrill scream from a dusky shape flitting through the air as
they skirted a marshy pool, and the team again broke into a furious
gallop. The trail was grown with short scrub which smashed beneath the
hoofs, and the vehicle lurched sharply when the wheels left the ruts and
ran through tall, tangled grass. Prescott with some diffidence slipped
his arm round Muriel's waist, while Colston jolted up and down with his
trunk.

"You have still the same taste in horses, Cyril," he remarked. "I suppose
you remember Wildfire?"

"Wildfire?" queried Prescott, and then, having the impression that young
English lads were sometimes given a pony, ventured: "Quite a cute little
beast."

"Little!" exclaimed Colston. "How many hands make a big horse in this
country? I'm speaking of the hunter you cajoled the second groom into
saddling when your father was away. Can't you remember how you insisted
on putting her at the Newby brook?"

"I don't seem to place it somehow," said Prescott in alarm, seeing that
if he were called upon to share any more reminiscences it might lead him
into difficulties. "You know I've been out here a while."

"Long enough to forget, it seems."

Prescott made a bold venture.

"That's so; perhaps it's better. This is a brand new country. One starts
afresh here, looking forward instead of back."

Muriel considered this. The idea was, she thought, appropriate, but the
man's tone and air were not what one would have expected of a reformed
rake. There was no hint of contrition; he spoke with optimistic
cheerfulness.

"Of course," Colston agreed. "I wonder if I might say that you have grown
more Canadian than I expected to find you?"

"More Canadian?" Prescott check