rupted. Landy's several gallon headpiece
was off and he nearly swept the ground with it. "Why, howdy, Miss
Adine. We was a-lookin' this little hoss over to see if he'd fit a
pattern. Meet Mister Lannarck here. He's the pattern."

"My name is Lannarck all right," said Davy, acknowledging the abrupt
introduction. "But among homefolks, I would rather be called Davy, as
I have always been sceptical of anyone calling me Mister, afraid he
would want to sell me something I didn't want."

The girl laughed. "I am troubled that way myself. If anyone calls me
Miss Lough, I pay no attention, thinking they mean someone else. Won't
you men come to the house? Father is in Omaha on business and Mother
and I are changing things around for the winter. Grandaddy picked out
this busy time for one of his visits, so we are all together. Grandad
will want to see you Landy, so come up to the house. I want to tell
you about that colt, and tell you why it is that I am not to sell
him."

There was little else for the mystified Landy and the now, heartbroken
midget to do but to follow along, through the gate and along the
well-kept bordered path to the immense porch. They loitered at the
gate for parley.

"... and he's the handsomest horse I ever saw," complained the little
man, "and she said she was not to sell him. I suppose it's some
parental promise she's made, or some skin-game buyer has been through
here and threw a wrench in the gears. Why, Landy, this is a
high-school horse! He's showy, fine color, fancy markings and anyone
can see that he's smart. We've just got to work it out somehow. A
high-school horse, pony size, he's worth a thousand."

"Well, I ain't up on school classifications for hosses," said Landy
dryly. "He may be a colleger fer all I know. But, we're dealin' with
a woman en thar's no accountin' fer what's the matter. Hit may be, yer
complexion don't match, er she may be a-keepin' him to contrast with
some letter paper she's goin' to buy. Ye jist can't tell a dern thing
about hit till we hear her story. After that, well, we can tell if
it's worthwhile to go on with the struggle."

When first introduced, Davy was certain that Miss Adine Lough was
about the handsomest girl he had ever seen. Surely not more than
twenty years of age, of medium height, a peach complexion, tanned a
little but fair to look at. She stood on the Colonial porch of the big
Lough homestead, her hands in the pockets of her black horse-hide
jacket a