The horse behind was creeping up now, and his open nostrils were visible
past the light hair blowing about Judith's neck. Crittenden spoke one
quiet word to his own horse, and Judith saw the leaders of his wrist
begin to stand out as Raincrow settled into the long reach that had
sent his sire a winner under many a string.

"Well, I know what he meant--that boy never will. And that is as a man
should be. The hope of the race isn't in this buggy--it has gone on
before with Phyllis and Basil."

Once the buggy wheels ran within an inch of a rather steep bank, and
straight ahead was a short line of broken limestone so common on
bluegrass turnpikes, but Judith had the Southern girl's trust and
courage, and seemed to notice the reckless drive as little as did
Crittenden, who made the wheels straddle the stones, when the variation
of an inch or two would have lamed his horse and overturned them.

"Yes, they are as frank as birds in their love-making, and they will
marry with as little question as birds do when they nest. They will have
a house full of children--I have heard her mother say that was her
ambition and the ambition she had for her children; and they will live a
sane, wholesome, useful, happy life."

The buggy behind had made a little spurt, and the horses were almost
neck and neck. Wharton looked ugly, and the black-eyed girl with fluffy
black hair was looking behind Judith's head at Crittenden and was
smiling. Not once had Judith turned her head, even to see who they were.
Crittenden hardly knew whether she was conscious of the race, but they
were approaching her gate now and he found out.