howed a gnarled and knotted
spruce-tree, twisted out of all semblance to a beautiful spruce, bent
and storm-blasted, with almost bare branches, all reaching one' way. The
tree was a specter. It stood alone. It had little green upon it. There
seemed something tragic about its contortions. But it was alive and
strong. It had no rivals to take sun or moisture. Its enemies were the
snow and wind and cold of the heights.

Helen felt, as the realization came to her, the knowledge Dale wished
to impart, that it was as sad as wonderful, and as mysterious as it was
inspiring. At that moment there were both the sting and sweetness of
life--the pain and the joy--in Helen's heart. These strange facts
were going to teach her--to transform her. And even if they hurt, she
welcomed them.

CHAPTER XI

"I'll ride you if it breaks--my neck!" panted Bo, passionately, shaking
her gloved fist at the gray pony.

Dale stood near with a broad smile on his face. Helen was within
earshot, watching from the edge of the park, and she felt so fascinated
and frightened that she could not call out for Bo to stop. The little
gray mustang was a beauty, clean-limbed and racy, with long black mane
and tail, and a fine, spirited head. There was a blanket strapped on his
back, but no saddle. Bo held the short halter that had been fastened
in a hackamore knot round his nose. She wore no coat; her blouse was
covered with grass and seeds, and it was open at the neck; her hair hung
loose and disheveled; one side of her face bore a stain of grass and
dirt and a suspicion of blood; the other was red and white; her eyes
blazed; beads of sweat stood out on her brow and wet places shone on her
cheeks. As she began to strain on the halter, pulling herself closer
to the fiery pony, the outline of her slender shape stood out lithe and
strong.

Bo had been defeated in her cherished and determined ambition to ride
Dale's mustang, and she was furious. The mustang did not appear to be
vicious or mean. But he was spirited, tricky, mischievous, and he had
thrown her six times. The scene of Bo's defeat was at the edge of the
park, where thick moss and grass afforded soft places for her to fall.
It also afforded poor foothold for the gray mustang, obviously placing
him at a disadvantage. Dale did not bridle him, because he had not been
broken to a bridle; and though it was harder for Bo to try to ride him
bareback, there was less risk of her being hurt. Bo had begun