told him of the incident.

"You didn't say anything to the police, did you?" she asked anxiously.

"No," he said. "I meant to, but I forgot."

She repeated Joses's remark about the cage.

"He's been in the cage," she said quietly.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

She nodded with set lips.

"How d'you know?"

"I saw it in his eyes."

The young man was genuinely moved.

"Poor beggar!" he said.

CHAPTER XXII

Ragamuffin

The little affair of Joses was one of the many trifles that made for
intimacy between the young man and the girl.

In spite of herself Boy found her opposition dying away. Indeed, she
could no more resist him than she could resist the elements. She might
put her umbrella up, but that did not stop the rain. And if the rain
chose to go on long enough, the umbrella would wear away. The choice lay
with the rain and not with the umbrella.

By the autumn Boy had ceased even to pretend to be unfriendly. It was no
use, and she was never much good at pretending.

Then with the fall of the leaves old Ragamuffin began to tumble to
pieces.

She watched him closely for a week. Then one October dawn, the mists
hanging white in the hollows, she led him out to the edge of the wood
before the lads were about. Only Monkey Brand accompanied her.

Herself she held the old pony alongside the new-dug grave, talking to
him, stroking his nose. Monkey Brand, of the steady hand and loving
heart, did the rest. A quarter of an hour later the girl and the little
jockey came back to the yard alone. She was carrying a halter in her
hand and talking of Four-Pound-the-Second.

The lads watched her surreptitiously and with brimming eyes. Albert, who
prided himself on the hardness of his heart, wept and swore he hadn't.

"I'll lay she feels it," blubbered Stanley, who was not clever enough to
conceal his tears.

* * * * *

When Silver came down for the week-end, Old Mat told him what had
happened.

"That's the strength in her," he whispered. "Just took and did it, she
and Monkey Brand. Never a word to her mother or me--before or since."

But the young man noticed that the girl looked haggard, wistful, more
spiritual than usual. He was shy of her, and she of him.

When that evening she met him in the yard and said, "Will you come and
see?" he was amazed and touched.

They stood together by the new-made grave under the wood. Jim was far
more moved than when his mother died.