ne good comradeship, and we
seemed to have known each other long. . . .

A crowd had packed themselves before the stall. As we reached it
Blister appeared in the doorway.

"Get back! Get back!" he ordered, and pointing to the panting mare:
"Don't you think she's earned a right to breath?"

The crowd fell away, except one rather shabby little old man.

"No one living," said he, "appreciates what she has done moh than
myself, suh, but I desiah to lay ma hand on a real race mayah once moh
befoh I die!"

Blister's face softened.

"Come on in, Mr. Sanford," he invited. "Why _you_ win the derby once,
didn't you?"

"Thank you, suh. Yes, suh, many yeahs ago," said the little old man,
and removing his battered hat he entered the stall, his white head bare.

Mrs. Dillon's face as she, too, entered the stall was tear-wet and
alight with a great tenderness.

A boy dodged his way to where we stood. His face and the front of his
blue and gold jacket were encrusted with dirt.

"You shoe-maker!" was Blister's scornful greeting.

"Honest to Gawd it wasn't my fault, Judge," the boy piped, sniffling.
"Honest to Gawd it wasn't! That sour-headed bay stud of Henderson's
swung his ugly butt under the mare's nose, 'n' just as I'm takin' back
so the dog won't kick a leg off her, that mutt of a starter lets 'em
go!"

"All right, sonny," said the judge. "You rode a nice race when you did
get away."

"Much obliged, sir. I just wanted to tell you," said the boy, and he
disappeared in the crowd as Judge Dillon joined those in the stall.

I stayed outside watching the group about Tres Jolie, and never had my
heart gone out to people more. Deeply I wished to keep them in my
life. . . I wondered if we would ever meet again. But pshaw!--I was
nothing to them. Well, I would go back to Cincinnati when they left in
the morning. . . .

"Can't we have you for a week at Thistle Ridge?" Mrs. Dillon stood
looking up at me.

"Why, that's very kind--" I stammered.

"The north pasture is a _wilderness_ this year, the _loaf of bread, the
jug of wine_ and the _bough_ are waiting. You can, of course, furnish
your own _verses_."

"The picture is almost perfect," I said, and glanced at Miss Goodloe.

"Virginia, dear--" prompted Mrs. Dillon.

"As a _thou_--I always strive to please," drawled that blue-eyed young
person. Oh, that I had been warned by her words!

Our purring flight to Louisville, when the day was done, became a