the voices of singing negroes came to us.
Presently we came to a fallen apple tree, a giant perhaps planted there
generations before. We seated ourselves here, and we should have been
happy, for we were young, and all about us was sweet and comforting.
Yet, on my honor, I would rather at that moment have been talking to my
mother than to Grace Sheraton. I did not know why.

For some time we sat there, pulling at apple blossoms and grass stems,
and talking of many things quite beside the real question; but at last
there came an interruption. I heard the sound of a low, rumbling bellow
approaching through the trees, and as I looked up I saw, coming forward
with a certain confidence, Sir Jonas, the red Sheraton bull, with a ring
in his nose, and in his carriage an intense haughtiness for one so
young. I knew all about Sir Jonas, for we had bred him on our farm, and
sold him not long since to the Sheratons.

Miss Grace gathered her skirts for instant flight, but I quickly pushed
her down. I knew the nature of Sir Jonas very well, and saw that flight
would mean disaster long before she could reach any place of safety.

"Keep quiet," I said to her in a low voice. "Don't make any quick
motions, or he'll charge. Come with me, slowly now."

Very pale, and with eyes staring at the intruder, she arose as I bade
her and slowly moved toward the tree which I had in mind. "Now--quick!"
I said, and catching her beneath the arms I swung her up into the low
branches. Her light lawn gown caught on a knotty limb, somewhat to her
perturbation, and ere I could adjust it and get her safe aloft Sir Jonas
had made up his mind. He came on with head down, in a short, savage
rush, and his horn missed my trouser leg by no more than an inch as I
dodged around the tree. At this I laughed, but Miss Grace screamed,
until between my hasty actions I called to her to keep quiet.

Sir Jonas seemed to have forgotten my voice, and though I commanded him
to be gone, he only shook his curly front and came again with head low
and short legs working very fast. Once more he nearly caught me with a
side lunge of his wicked horns as he whirled. He tossed up his head then
and bolted for the tree where Miss Grace had her refuge. Then I saw it
was the red lining of her Parisian parasol which had enraged him. "Throw
it down!" I called out to her. She could not find it in her heart to
toss it straight down to Sir Jonas, who would have trampled it at once,
so she ca