ch, Hiram had seen
the change come into the expression of the girl's face.

"Clear your foot of the stirrup!" he shouted, hoping the girl would
understand.

With a confusing thunder of hoofbeats the bay came on--was beneath
him--had passed!

Hiram's right arm shot out, curved slightly, and as his fingers gripped
her sleeve, the girl let go. She was whisked out of the saddle and the
horse swept on without her.

The strain of the girl's slight weight upon his arm lasted but a moment,
for Hiram let go with his feet, swung down, and dropped.

They alighted in the roadway with so slight a jar that he scarcely
staggered, but set the girl down gently, and for the passing of a breath
her body swayed against him, seeking support.

Then she sprang a little away, and they stood looking at each
other--Hiram panting and flushed, the girl with wide-open eyes out of
which the terror had not yet faded, and cheeks still colorless.

So they stood, for fully half a minute, speechless, while the thunder of
the bay's hoofs passed further and further away and finally was lost in
the distance.

And it wasn't excitement that kept the boy dumb; for that was all over,
and he had been as cool as need be through the incident. But it
was unbounded amazement that made him stare so at the slight girl
confronting him.

He had seen her brilliant, dark little face before. Only once--but that
one occasion had served to photograph her features on his memory.

For the second time he had been of service to her; but he knew
instantly--and the fact did not puzzle him--that she did not recognize
him.

It had been so dark in the unlighted side street back in Crawberry the
evening of their first meeting that Hiram believed (and was glad) that
neither she nor her father would recognize him as the boy who had kept
their carriage from going into the open ditch.

And he had played rescuer again--and in a much more heroic manner.
This was the daughter of the man whom he had thought to be a prosperous
farmer, and whose card Hiram had lost.

He had hoped the gentleman might have a job for him; but now Hiram was
not looking for a job. He had given himself heartily to the project of
making the old Atterson farm pay; nor was he the sort of fellow to show
fickleness in such a project.

Before either Hiram or the girl broke the silence--before that silence
could become awkward, indeed--there started into hearing the ring of
rapid hoofbeats again. But it w