around in the saddle and folded back the rim of his big
sombrero.

"For good, you say?"

The girl's brown eyes were cast down demurely. "Yes, for good," she
repeated.

They had been losing ground. Now in silence they galloped ahead, the
regular muffled patter of their horses' feet upon the frozen sod
sounding like the distant rattle of a snare-drum. Once again even with
the buckboard, they lapsed into a walk.

"You haven't told me where you're going," repeated Blair.

The question seemed to be of purest politeness, as a host inquires if
his visitor has rested well; yet for a dozen years they two had lived
nearest neighbors, and had grown to maturity side by side. She concluded
there were some phases of this silent youth which she had not yet
learned.

"We haven't decided where we're going yet," she replied. "Mamma wants to
go to England, but papa and I refuse to leave this country. Then daddy
wants to live in a small town, and I vote for a big one. Just now we're
at deadlock."

A smile started in Ben's blue eyes and spread over his thin face.

"From the way you talk," he said, "I have a suspicion the deadlock won't
last long. If I stretch my imagination a little I can guess pretty close
to the decision."

Florence was sober a moment; then a smile flashed over her face and left
the daintiest of dimples in either cheek.

"Maybe you can," she said.

For the second time they galloped ahead and caught up with the slower
buckboard.

"Florence," Ben threw one leg over the pommel of his saddle and faced
his companion squarely, "I've heard your mother talk, and of course I
understand why she wants to go back among her folks, but you were raised
here. Why do you want to leave?"

The girl hesitated, and ran her fingers through her horse's mane.

"Mamma's been here against her will for a good many years. We ought to
go for her sake."

Ben made a motion of deprecation. "What I want to know is the real
reason,--your own reason," he said.

The warm blood flushed Florence's face. "By what right do you ask that?"
she retorted. "You seem to forget that we've both grown up since we went
to school together."

Ben looked calmly out over the prairie.

"No, I don't forget; and I admit I have no right to ask. But I may ask
as a friend, I am sure. Why do you want to go?"

Again the girl hesitated. Logically she should refuse to answer. To do
otherwise was to admit that her first answer was an evasion; but
something,