ew on, down the narrow road. After twenty strides she did not
attempt to disguise from herself the fact that the five-year-old was
in a frenzy of fear, and running away. Victoria had been run away with
before, and having some knowledge of the animal she rode, she did not
waste her strength by pulling on the curb, but sought rather to quiet
him with her voice, which had no effect whatever. He was beyond appeal,
his head was down, and his ears trembling backwards and straining for a
sound of the terror that pursued him. The road ran through the forest,
and Victoria reflected that the grade, on the whole, was downward to the
East Tunbridge station, where the road crossed the track and took to the
hills beyond. Once among them, she would be safe--he might run as far,
as he pleased. But could she pass the station? She held a firm rein, and
tried to keep her mind clear.

Suddenly, at a slight bend of the road, the corner of the little red
building came in sight, some hundreds of yards ahead; and, on the
side where it stood, in the clearing, was a white mass which Victoria
recognized as a pile of lumber. She saw several men on the top of
the pile, standing motionless; she heard one of them shout; the horse
swerved, and she felt herself flung violently to the left.

Her first thought, after striking, was one of self-congratulation that
her safety stirrup and habit had behaved properly. Before she could
rise, a man was leaning over her--and in the instant she had the
impression that he was a friend. Other people had had this impression of
him on first acquaintance--his size, his genial, brick-red face, and his
honest blue eyes all doubtless contributing.

"Are you hurt, Miss Flint?" he asked.

"Not in the least," she replied, springing to her feet to prove the
contrary. "What's become of my horse?"

"Two of the men have gone after him," he said, staring at her with
undisguised but honest admiration. Whereupon he became suddenly
embarrassed, and pulled out a handkerchief the size of a table napkin.
"Let me dust you off."

"Thank you," said Victoria, laughing, and beginning the process herself.
Her new acquaintance plied the handkerchief, his face a brighter
brick-red than ever.

"Thank God, there wasn't a freight on the siding," he remarked, so
fervently that Victoria stole a glance at him. The dusting process
continued.

"There," she exclaimed, at last, adjusting her stock and shaking her
skirt, "I'm ever so much oblig