d from the alley gate, and they screamed with childish
delight when the spurs had recalled to his memory that far-off dreadful
day with the busy bees. They now balanced precariously on the alley
fence, the better to trace Merton's flight through the dust cloud.
"Merton's in a runaway, Merton's in a runaway, Merton's in a runaway!"
they shrieked, but with none of the sympathy that would have become
them. They appeared to rejoice in Merton's plight. "Merton's in a
runaway," they joyously chanted.

Suddenly they ceased, frozen with a new and splendid wonder, for their
descriptive phrase was now inexact. Merton was no longer in a runaway.
But only for a moment did they hesitate before taking up the new chant.

"Looky, looky. He's throwed Merton right off into the dirt. He's throwed
Merton right off into the dirt. Oh, looky Merton Gill right down there
in the dirt!"

Again they had become exact. Merton was right down there in the dirt,
and a frantic, flashing-heeled Dexter was vanishing up the alley at the
head of a cloud of dust. The friendly Ransom tots leaped from the fence
to the alley, forgetting on her bed of pain the mother who supposed them
to be engrossed with picture books in the library. With one accord
they ran toward the prostrate horseman, Calvin ahead and Elsie a close
second, holding the hand of little Woodrow.

They were presently able to observe that the fleeing Dexter had narrowly
escaped running down a motor car inopportunely turning at that moment
into the alley. The gallant animal swerved in time, leaving the car's
driver and his wife aghast at their slight margin of safety. Dexter
vanished to the right up shaded Spruce Street on a Sabbath evening as
the first call to evening worship pealed from a neighbouring church
tower.

His late rider had erected himself and was beating dust from the new
chaps and the front of the new shirt. He picked up the ideal hat and
dusted that. Underneath all the flurry of this adventure he was still
the artist. He had been set afoot in the desert by a treacherous horse;
he must find a water hole or perish with thirst. He replaced the hat,
and it was then he observed the motor car bearing down the alley upon
him.

"My good gosh!" he muttered.

The Gashwilers had returned a full two hours before their accustomed
time. The car halted beside him and his employer leaned out a warmly
hostile face.

"What's this mean?" he demanded.

The time was not one to tell Gashwil