Suddenly, from above the Lehigh Valley tracks, she heard the sound of
horses' hoofs. Her attention taken from her meditations, she lifted her
pensive gaze from the lake, wheeled about, and looked for the horseman.
Flea knew that it was not a summer cottager; for many days before the
last of them had taken his family to Ithaca. Perhaps some chance
wayfarer had followed the wrong road. Just below the tracks she caught a
glimpse of a black horse, and as it came nearer Flea noted the rider, a
young man whose kindly dark eyes and white teeth dazzled her. His
straight legs were incased in yellow boots, his fine form in a tightly
fitting riding-coat. Flea had never seen just such a man, not even in
the infrequent visits she made to Ithaca. Something in his smile, as he
drew up his steed and looked down upon her, affected her with a curious
thrill.

"Little girl, will you tell me if I am on the right road to Glenwood?"

Flea's tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. His voice, cultivated and
deep, made her forget for a moment the question he had asked her. Then
she remembered; but instinctively she did not reply in her usual high
squatter tones.

"Nope, ye got to go back, and turn to the right at the top of the hill.
Ye can't go round the shore from here; the water's too high."

This impulsive desire to choose her words and to modulate her voice came
from a sudden realization that there lived another class of people
outside the squatter settlement of whom she knew little.

"Thank you very much," replied the questioner. "Now I understand that if
I ride to the top of the hill and turn to the right, I'll reach
Glenwood?"

"Yep," answered Flea.

Her embarrassment caused her lips to close over the one word.
Wonderingly she watched the man ride away until the sight of his dark
horse was lost in the trees above the tracks.

"It were a prince," she stammered in a low tone, "a real live prince!"

Flea contemplated the darkening hills with moody eyes. She counted
slowly one by one the towers of the university buildings. This she did
merely from habit; for the expression remained unchanged on her
melancholy face. At length the gray eyes dropped to the water and fixed
their gaze upon a fishing boat turning toward the shore. A few moments
before it had been but a black speck near the lighthouse; but as it came
nearer Flea distinctly saw the two men and the boy in it. Upon the bow
of the boat was perched Snatchet, a yellow terrier,