forward.

"Say!" he said to Jerry. "Was it you or me won the National?"

"Neever," answered Jerry. "It was Miss Boy."

"Did she ride him, then?" asked Albert.

Jerry shot his face forward. All the other lads were at his back.

"She did then," he said.

Albert was white and blinking, but in complete control of himself.

"Who says so?"

"Everyone. You're a plucky fine actor and a mighty pore 'orseman, Albert
Edward," continued the tormentor.

Albert was a lad of character. He had sworn to his mistress that if he
won the race he would henceforth drop the boy and don the man. And the
sign of his emancipation was to be that never again would he use his
dukes except in self-defence. Now in the hour of trial he was true to
his word.

Happily the strain was relieved, for at the moment Boy, scenting
trouble, came out into the yard. Monkey Brand with her.

Albert approached her.

"Beg pardon, Miss, was it you or me won the National?" he asked. "These
'ere genelmen say it was you."

"It was neither," replied the girl. "It was Four-Pound-the-Second. Come
in with me, Albert. I want to change his bandages."

She reentered the stable.

Albert followed at a distance, slow and sullen.

Boy entered the loose-box, and Billy Bluff rose to greet her with a
yawn.

The door of the loose-box closed.

The girl bent to her task.

A hand was laid upon her shoulder.

She looked up sharply.

Jim Silver was standing above her, and the door was shut.

"It's you, is it?" she said.

He took her quivering life into his arms.

"Now," she sighed.

She raised her lips, and he laid his own upon them.

"Again," she said with closed eyes.

His own drank in her face.

"You've been a patient old man," she whispered.

"It was worth it," he answered.

"I'll make it so," she said. "Please God!" she added with delightful
inconsequence. "I'm glad you didn't bet."

The great brown horse turned his head and breathed on them.

Boy disengaged, patting her hair. "I'm glad you didn't bet," she
repeated.

"We shall have enough to farm on without that," he said. "And to breed a
few 'chasers."

Her hand was moving up and down the horse's smooth, hard neck.

"I don't want to breed 'chasers," she said.

He laughed softly.

"Don't you?"

"No," she said. "I'm tired of it. I'm like mother. It's all right when
you're quite young. But it doesn't last--if you've got anything in you.
It's froth."

He nodded.

"You're right," h