e reared
hugely and lunged forward with demoniacal fury. The man's spent strength
could not cope with this final outburst. The horse bore him down,
rushed over him, and the crowd scattered right and left to seek safety.

Peter, with a shrill cry of joy, ran to the prostrate figure and drew it
farther away from the fire. As he laid the rescuer of The Prince down
Julia was there to receive his head in her lap. Her face was white as
the gown she wore, but her voice was clear as she spoke.

"Peter, go for a doctor! Daddy, bring some water, please."

She gently placed her hand upon the smoke-grimed forehead, and while the
crowd lingered to await the outcome, Devil Marston stole away with
curses deep and vile, and set his dark face towards home.

CHAPTER III

When Glenning opened his eyes the next morning he lay quiet a long time,
staring at the figure seated by his bedside. At first he was at a total
loss to understand where he was, but a sharp pain in his lungs when he
breathed, and sundry irritating, prickly places about his face and head,
brought back to him the events of the past night. But he was a
philosophical fellow, and while he felt a deep gratitude welling up in
his heart for young Tom Dillard, he could not help smiling at the
appearance his newly-found friend presented that morning. It was quite
plain to Glenning's still befuddled intellect that Dillard had elected
to stay with him and take care of him during the night. The bank clerk's
figure was almost corpulent in daylight, and this was emphasized by the
attitude he had assumed. He had evidently determined not to go to sleep,
but the relaxation and absolute quiet succeeding the excitement at the
burning of the stable had proven too much for him. Now he sat with his
heels on a rung of the chair, his knees drawn up, while his head had
sunk forward till it almost touched them. In this position he bore a
striking resemblance to a butterball, and when Glenning first saw him he
was slumbering with much effort, because his breathing was hampered by
his cramped posture. There was something in it all over-poweringly
funny to John, and presently he chuckled aloud. Whereupon his watcher
gave a little snort and opened his eyes, round, blue, and innocent as a
child's.

"Bless me, if I haven't been asleep!" exclaimed Dillard, a bit
sheepishly. Then--"How are you feeling, doctor?"

"Chipper as a lark--considering!" was the hearty answer. "But I hope
I'll neve