beast bruise you?"

"Oh, no----"

"You limped!"

"Did I?" he said vaguely. "How do you feel?"

"There is," she said, "a curious, breathless flutter all over me; if that
is fright, I suppose I'm frightened, but I don't mind mounting at once--
if you would put me up----"

"Better wait a bit," he said; "it would not do to have that horse feel a
fluttering pulse, telegraphing along the snaffle. Tell me, are you
spurred?"

She lifted the hem of her habit; two small spurs glittered on her
polished boot heels.

"That's it, you see," he observed; "you probably have not ridden cross
saddle very long. When your mount swerved you spurred, and he bolted, bit
in teeth."

"That's exactly it," she admitted, looking ruefully at her spurs. Then
she dropped her skirt, glanced interrogatively at him, and, obeying his
grave gesture, seated herself again upon the bench.

"Don't stand," she said civilly. He took the other end of the seat,
lifting the still slumbering squirrel to his knee.