The artist sprang to her side and raised her to her feet. "It was this
that made the mischief," he said, touching her parasol. "I shouted to
you to drop it."

"But I didn't hear you," defended the teacher faintly. Her two long
braids of fair hair had become unfastened and were now hanging down her
back, giving her the appearance of a girl. "I heard some one calling
to me, or I would never have entered that dreadful field." Miss Jones
eyed the artist reproachfully. "Was it you who shouted my name?"

"Was it I?" repeated the young man in astonishment. "Certainly not. I
do not know your name."

"My name is 'Jones,'" Miss Jenny Ann faltered weakly. She was still
feeling dazed and weak.

"And my name is 'Brown,'" the artist answered, with an expression of
solemn gravity. But the corners of his lips twitched in amusement.

There was a faint chuckle from Madge that went the round of the group
and, despite the fact that the chaperon's narrow escape had been far
from ludicrous, the whole party burst into laughter.

"I am sorry," apologized the artist. "Please forgive me for laughing."

The farmer had in the meantime led the bull away, and now Eleanor and
Lillian came running toward the group to see if Miss Jenny Ann were
truly hurt. When they saw the whole party shaking with laughter, the
two girls exchanged curious glances. "Luncheon has been waiting half
an hour," Eleanor declared rather crossly. "Do come and eat it. We