s.

He strangely seemed to consider the pommel the steering wheel of a motor
car. He seemed to be twisting it with the notion of guiding Dexter. All
might have been well, but on losing his stirrups the rider had firmly
clasped his legs about the waist of the animal. Again and again he
tightened them, and now Dexter not only looked every inch a horse but
very painfully to his rider felt like one, for the spurs were goring him
to a most seditious behavior. The mere pace was slackened only that he
might alarmingly kick and shake himself in a manner as terrifying to the
rider as it was unseemly in one of Dexter's years.

But the thing was inevitable, because once in his remote, hot youth
Dexter, cavorting innocently in an orchard, had kicked over a hive of
busy bees which had been attending strictly to their own affairs until
that moment. After that they had attended to Dexter with a thoroughness
that had seared itself to this day across his memory. He now sincerely
believed that he had overturned another hive of bees, and that not but
by the most strenuous exertion could he escape from their harrying. They
were stinging him venomously along his sides, biting deeper with every
jump. At last he would bear his rider safely over the border.

The rider clasped his mount ever more tightly. The deep dust of the
alley road mounted high over the spirited scene, and through it came not
only the hearty delight of Metta Judson in peals of womanly laughter,
but the shrill cries of the three Ransom children whom Merton had not
before noticed. These were Calvin Ransom, aged eight; Elsie Ransom, aged
six; and little Woodrow Ransom, aged four. Their mother had lain down
with a headache, having first ordered them to take their picture books
and sit quietly in the parlour as good children should on a Sabbath
afternoon. So they had noisily pretended to obtain the picture books and
then quietly tiptoed out into the backyard, which was not so stuffy as
the parlour.

Detecting the meritorious doings in the Gashwiler barnyard, they perched
in a row on the alley fence and had been excited spectators from the
moment that Merton had mounted his horse.

In shrill but friendly voices they had piped, "Oh, Merton Gill's a
cowboy, Merton Gill's a cowboy! Oh, looka the cowboy on the big horse!"

For of course they were motion-picture experts and would know a cowboy
when they saw one. Wide-eyed, they followed the perilous antics of
Dexter as he issue