h had held back for a while, now started afresh.
Yankee, with visions of a dry stall and bountiful supper before him,
went on his rapid way through the rain, troubling himself little about
Dood or Don, and quite unconscious of the disturbed state of his rider's
mind, in which anxious thoughts and surmises chased each other in quick
succession.

"I noticed that it was a rough place the moment we went in. Who were the
noisy men in the other room, I wonder? The man in the wet duster wasn't
one of them. What could Don have been saying to him? May be Dood had
broken a leg, and Don didn't like to tell me. Ridiculous idea, as if a
pony with a broken leg could go a step! May be Don's watch was stolen,
or he'd lost his pocket-book. But he could have told me _that_. Dear me,
he needn't have been so dreadfully afraid for me to stay there. It's
forlorn to be a girl, and have people think you can't stand anything.
Don can take care of himself, anyhow. I'd like to see any of those
fellows trying to hurt _him_,"--and here, by way of showing how very
much she would _like_ it, Dorry's cheek turned pale. "How foolish!
Probably he stayed for Dood's sake. Poor Dood! I hope he'll not be laid
up long; Jack could cure him quickly enough. Dear me, how it rains! Glad
my riding-habit is water-proof. Liddy will be frightened about me. I
suppose they think we're at F---- yet, waiting to ride home by
moonlight. How well Dr. Lane looks! But he has a fearfully
Greek-and-Latin expression. Can't help it, I suppose. Don knows nearly
as much Latin as Uncle, I do believe. Dear old Don! I How kind he is!
Oh, if anything should happen to him!" Here, Yankee, already speeding
bravely, received instructions to "get up," and then Dot, to her great
joy, spied a familiar horse and buggy in the distance, coming swiftly
toward her.

Lady was a fast mare when Sailor Jack held the reins.

CHAPTER XXIV.

DONALD.

DONALD _was_ talking rather savagely when Dorothy turned and saw him in
the hall as she galloped through the opened gateway. But the man in the
wet duster was not in the least vexed by Donald's manner. On the
contrary, he assumed an air of superiority, and called him "my boy."

"All the Reeds are impetuous," he had said lightly, as if apologizing
for this particular member of the family; "so we'll waive ceremony, my
boy. With your permission, as I said before, I'll step into the parlor
now, and have a little chat with the young lady."

"And a