hering on the grandstand and they held their
breath for very fear, Beth held hers also. Dollie needed all of her
breath for her solitary run. On, on, she flew. Beth clung closer,
while people sprang to their feet in their anxiety over the outcome.

By this time Beth was hatless. Her long curls and the clumsy torn
skirt were flying backwards.

On, on they came. People leaned far over the stand. Jockeys ran out
on the track. One of them cried enthusiastically:

"It is a beautiful run if only the little one isn't killed."

Dollie in truth was making a wonderful run for a horse that had no
competition. With long swinging strides she came around the track, and
her speed remained unabated. If people had not been so fearful for the
child's life, some one might have thought to time Dollie, and it is
very probable that it would then have been proved that she was fully
equaling her record if she was not breaking it.

Mr. Davenport ran up the track in an agony of fear, ready to head off
the runaway animal if it seemed advisable. The jockeys followed in his
wake.

"That is the child's father. How terrible it must be for him," said
some of the spectators.

Dollie's speed remained unabated.

When she was three-quarters of the way around, Mr. Davenport was almost
within hailing distance of his brave little girl who still clung to the
excited horse.

Mr. Davenport was undecided whether to try to stop the horse or not,
for fear a sudden stop might unseat his child.

Beth saw her father and grew excited.

"Oh, papa," she cried, taking her hand from the pommel to wave it to
him.

The action came near being fatal. Dollie was making the curve. Beth
swayed, and Mr. Davenport and many another spectator shuddered, fearing
she would be dashed to death. She, however, proved a better rider than
they expected. She was growing accustomed to the rapid motion of the
horse, and gained confidence thereby. She straightened herself,
clinging with one hand and gathering up the reins that had been hanging
loose, with the other. Then she pulled on them again, crying:

"Whoa, Dollie, whoa."

Dollie perhaps was tiring of her mad run, for she heeded the frantic
appeal. Gently as any well-regulated machinery, she slackened speed.

Delighted at the success of her horsemanship, Beth repeated the action,
crying:

"Whoa--nice Dollie." Then in a tumult of relief she shouted:

"Hurrah, I'm not going to die after all."

Peopl