alley and calmed the hatred which by our law should live between
you and me. Go back to your book. Tomorrow when I see you, today will
not have been. No, don't thank me! You might--thank Ruth!" And quickly
she was gone.

But Dale was following. At the end of the arbor he caught her by the
shoulders, as he would have caught a fleeing boy. Springing about, she
saw the new light of happiness in his face, and her irritation at being
thus stopped changed almost into laughter.

"I will thank you anyhow," he said, with a silent chuckle of honest
fellowship. "This is like givin' me a new life after I'd been shot to
death. Just watch those lessons fly now!"

"But you mustn't stop ladies roughly that way!"

He stepped back, stammering and visibly embarrassed as she knew he would
be; and, believing it well for him to continue so to be, she went toward
the horse. But he was again at her side, not to apologize;--just humbly
to help her mount.

He watched as she cantered around the circle and passed between the old
gate posts; then threw back his head and gazed into the sky, solemnly,
earnestly; taking deep, deep breaths, as famished kine will dip their
muzzles in a stream and gluttonously swallow. After this he went slowly
to the library, took up the book, and reverently opened it at the place
where he had begun to dream a dream.

CHAPTER XXXII

THE SHERIFF FORGETS HIS PRISONER

Had Jess remained undiverted when he galloped out of Arden, Brent might
soon have been honorably and apologetically escorted from the Buckville
court house steps; but as he crossed a stream trickling over the
pike--the same spot where Tusk gave battle to Mephisto--his eyes rested
on a bee, a bee which had settled there to drink from the moist earth.
This checked the sheriff, who was ever considerate of his fondness for
wild honey--and this was a wild bee. Moreover, when he had looked again,
he saw other bees in the act of drinking. So he quietly dismounted, gave
his bridle rein to the darky, crouched and crept forward.

There is sometimes found in the realm of man one whom a bee will not
sting. Whether this is in respect for the man, or self-respect, may
still be pronounced an open question. One is inclined to think this way,
or that way, according to the aspect of him who makes the boast. At any
rate, Jess was of this select few, and in another minute he was standing
erect, chuckling, with five little workers buzzing excitedly between his