you, my
brave, my noble, my heroic Capitola!" said Clara, fervently, with the
tears rushing to her eyes.

"Bosh!" said Cap. "If you go doing the sentimental you won't look like
me a bit, and that will spoil all. There! keep your veil close, for
it's windy, you know; throw back your head and fling yourself along
with a swagger, as if you didn't care, ahem! for anybody, and--there
you are!" said Cap, pushing Clara out and shutting the door behind her.

Clara paused an instant to offer up one short, fervent prayer for her
success and Capitola's safety, and then following her instructions,
went on.

Nearly all girls are clever imitators, and Clara readily adopted
Capitola's light, springy, swaying walk, and met old Dorcas Knight in
the hall, without exciting the slightest suspicion of her identity.

"Humph!" said the woman; "so you are going! I advise you not to come
back again!"

Clara threw up her head with a swagger, and went on.

"Very well, you may scorn my words, but if you know your own good
you'll follow my advice!" said Dorcas Knight, harshly.

Clara flung up her head and passed out.

Before the door Wool was waiting with the horses. Keeping her face
closely muffled, Clara went to Capitola's pony. Wool came and helped
her into the saddle, saying:

"Yer does right, Miss Cap, to keep your face kivered; it's awful windy,
ain't it, though? I kin scarcely keep the har from blowing offen my
head."

With an impatient jerk after the manner of Capitola, Clara signified
that she did not wish to converse. Wool dropped obediently behind,
mounted his horse and followed at a respectful distance until Clara
turned her horse's head and took the bridle-path toward Tip Top. This
move filled poor Wool with dismay. Riding toward her, he exclaimed:

"'Deed, Miss Cap, yer mus' scuse me for speakin' now! Whar de muschief
is yer a-goin' to?"

For all answer Clara, feigning the temper of Capitola, suddenly wheeled
her horse, elevated her riding whip and galloped upon Wool in a
threatening manner.

Wool dodged and backed his horse with all possible expedition,
exclaiming in consternation:

"Dar! dar! Miss Cap, I won't go for to ax you any more questions--no--not
if yer rides straight to Old Nick or Black Donald!"

Whereupon, receiving this apology in good part, Clara again turned her
horse's head and rode on her way.

Wool followed, bemoaning the destiny that kept him between the two
fierce fires of his old master's de