It will be all right in a few minutes," he said, motioning her to the
bench on the asphalt walk. She nodded, turned, picked up his hat, and,
seating herself, began to smooth the furred nap with her sleeve, watching
him intently all the while. That he already had the confidence of a horse
that he had never before seen was perfectly apparent. Little by little
the sweating, quivering limbs were stilled, the tense muscles in the neck
relaxed, the head sank, dusty velvet lips nibbled at his hand, his
shoulder; the heaving, sunken flanks filled and grew quiet.

Bareheaded, his attire in disorder and covered with slaver and sand, the
young man laid the bridle on the horse's neck, held out his hand, and,
saying "Come," turned his back and walked down the bridle path. The horse
stretched a sweating neck, sniffed, pricked forward both small ears, and
slowly followed, turning as the man turned, up and down, crowding at heel
like a trained dog, finally stopping on the edge of the walk.

The young man looped the bridle over a low maple limb, and leaving the
horse standing sauntered over to the bench.

"That horse," he said pleasantly, "is all right now; but the question is,
are you all right?"

She rose, handing him his hat, and began to twist up her bright hair. For
a few moments' silence they were frankly occupied in restoring order to
raiment, dusting off gravel and examining rents.

"I'm tremendously grateful," she said abruptly.

"I am, too," he said in that attractive manner which sets people of
similar caste at ease with one another.

"Thank you; it's a generous compliment, considering your hat and
clothing."

He looked up; she stood twisting her hair and doing her best with the few
remaining hair pegs.

"I'm a sight for little fishes," she said, coloring. "Did that wretched
beast bruise you?"

"Oh, no----"

"You limped!"

"Did I?" he said vaguely. "How do you feel?"

"There is," she said, "a curious, breathless flutter all over me; if that
is fright, I suppose I'm frightened, but I don't mind mounting at once--
if you would put me up----"

"Better wait a bit," he said; "it would not do to have that horse feel a
fluttering pulse, telegraphing along the snaffle. Tell me, are you
spurred?"

She lifted the hem of her habit; two small spurs glittered on her
polished boot heels.

"That's it, you see," he observed; "you probably have not ridden cross
saddle very long. When your mount swerved you spurred, and he