kick was obvious, to go away not
less so; but this new terror clung to the maddened creature in his
frenzied flight--between his legs, in the air, at his heels, his hip,
his neck. A low tree leaned from the hillside; the aerial saddle caught
in the forks of it, the bronco's head was jerked round, he was pulled to
his haunches, overthrown; but the tough hornstring broke, the freed coil
snapped out at him; he scrambled up and bunched his glorious muscles in
a vain and furious effort to outrun the rope that dragged at his heels,
and so passed from sight beyond the next curve.

Waist-deep in the pool sat the hatless horseman, or perhaps horseless
horseman were the juster term, steeped in a profound calm. That last
phrase has a familiar sound; Mark Twain's, doubtless--but, all things
considered, steeped is decidedly the word. One gloved hand was in the
water, the other in the muddy margin of the pool: he watched the final
evolution of his late mount with meditative interest. The saddle was
freed at last, but its ex-occupant still sat there, lost in thought.
Blood trickled, unnoted, down his forehead.

The last stone followed him into the pool; the echoes died on the hills.
The spring resumed its pleasant murmur, but the tinkle of its fall was
broken by the mimic waves of the pool. Save for this troubled sloshing
against the banks, the slow-settling dust and the contemplative bust of
the one-time centaur, no trace was left to mark the late disastrous
invasion.

The invader's dreamy and speculative gaze followed the dust of the
trailing rope. He opened his lips twice or thrice, and spoke, after
several futile attempts, in a voice mild, but clearly earnest:

"Oh, you little eohippus!"

The spellbound girl rose. Her hand was at her throat; her eyes were big
and round, and her astonished lips were drawn to a round, red O.

Sharp ears heard the rustle of her skirts, her soft gasp of amazement.
The merman turned his head briskly, his eye met hers. One gloved hand
brushed his brow; a broad streak of mud appeared there, over which the
blood meandered uncertainly. He looked up at the maid in silence: in
silence the maid looked down at him. He nodded, with a pleasant smile.

"Good-morning!" he said casually.

At this cheerful greeting, the astounded maid was near to tumbling
after, like Jill of the song.

"Er--good-morning!" she gasped.

Silence. The merman reclined gently against the bank with a comfortable
air of satisfa