a horse," he confessed
hurriedly. "A car is a different proposition. I thought that using
the whip was the same as turning on the gasoline and I didn't expect
such an explosion."

"I am afraid that I was the one that was guilty of the explosion," said
Christina contritely, and they grew very friendly over their mutual
apologies. Wallace had expected that a reconciliation would have been
a difficult matter. He was not the sort to be sorry that it was not.
He was very happy to find that, after all, this tall, frank girl, who
held herself aloof from the doings at the corner, was inclined to look
upon him with friendliness in her bright eyes. He very much enjoyed
apologising to her and kept on doing it after they had reached her
home, and they stood together in the moonlight listening to the soft
whisper of the leaves in the poplar trees at Christina's gate.

Of course every one noticed that Wallace Sutherland had gone home with
Christina Lindsay, and so much comment did this cause that the fact
that Trooper and Joanna walked away together very slowly did not
attract much attention. It was probably the last time. Joanna's
spirits had left her. She could not find the strength to pretend any
longer. She was silent and miserable on the way home and Trooper was
silent too. This last leave was a trying experience. He might never
come back, might never see Joanna's handsome face again, and, after
all, no one would care so much if he were killed as Joanna. And so
they hung over the gate long after her father had gone to bed, and
finally when Trooper tore himself away, he whispered, "Now, not a
minute later than four o'clock," and Joanna answered, "Do you suppose I
could forget?"

Mark Falls always rose at six o'clock, called his daughter and went
into the blacksmith shop returning at seven for his breakfast. He
followed the usual rule the next morning but when he returned, Joanna
had no breakfast ready for him. There was a cold lunch set out on the
table but there was no fire in the kitchen stove and no tea made. He
was a rather cross-grained man but he knew it was never safe to
antagonise his daughter and so he called rather mildly up-stairs, "Hi,
there Joan, you ain't sick are you?" but Joanna did not answer and he
mounted the stairs slowly grumbling about the young folk who would
never go to bed at night and never get up till mid-day, and then he
stopped in the middle of Joanna's open door. The bed was made a