the buggy Dr. Alden and the young man
lifted it on one side. Out crawled Madge, a most inglorious figure. She
was covered with dust, her face grimy. Her hair had tumbled down and
hung in a loose bunch of curls over her shoulders.

"I am not a bit hurt, Doctor," she announced bravely, as soon as she got
her breath. "It was all my fault. I let old Prince get away from me. I
am so afraid I have broken the buggy."

"What a nice girl!" thought David. "She isn't a bit fussy. I wonder how
she will take the old lady?"

While the physician assured Madge that his vehicle was not injured in
the least, and that he would not have minded its being smashed into bits
so long as she was unhurt, a woman walked across the yard and glared
angrily at Madge.

"Young woman," she said in a thin, high voice, "look--look at what you
and that wretched horse have done."

Madge blinked some of the dirt from her eyes, then tried to twist her
hair back into some kind of order. "I am sorry," she answered in
bewilderment. "But what have we done?"

David swallowed a malicious grin of satisfaction.

The woman fairly gasped at Madge's question. "You've torn up my lawn,
trampled down my prize rose-bush, and--and--please take the young woman
away, doctor. My nerves won't endure anything more after the night I
have spent. I am sure I would never dare trust my life to any one who
goes about turning over buggies and ruining people's gardens."

Trust her life? Of what was the woman talking? Madge thought she could
not have heard aright.

"Never mind your lawn, Miss Betsey," answered Dr. Alden severely. "Be
grateful that the child isn't hurt. Thank you, David." The doctor began
fumbling in his pocket for his money.

Madge saw her rescuer's face turn scarlet. He was a manly looking fellow
of perhaps eighteen.

With a muttered, "I'm not a beggar," he turned and walked away from
them.

After exchanging a little further conversation with Miss Betsey, the
doctor and Madge drove away. Outside the yard Madge began to laugh. She
could still see the old maid wringing her hands and gazing in anguish at
her cherished garden.

"Scat!" grumbled Madge.

The doctor smiled. "Miss Betsey is a bit of an old cat, child. But I
don't wish you to be prejudiced against her, poor old soul."

"Oh, I wasn't thinking of her being like a cat, Doctor Man," apologized
Madge. "I am very fond of cats. I was thinking of Miss Betsey in 'David
Copperfield.' Don't you remember