"Up you go, son. You'll be a cow-puncher yourself one of these days.
I'll not let him fall, and this horse is gentle." This last to satisfy
Dorman's aunt, who wavered between anxiety and relief.

"You may ride to the gate, Dorman, and then you'll have to hop down and
run back to your auntie and grandma. We're going too far for you
to-day." Dick gave him the reins to hold, and let the horse walk to
prolong the joy of it.

Dorman held to the horn with one hand, to the reins with the other, and
let his small body swing forward and back with the motion of the horse,
in exaggerated imitation of his friend, Mr. Cameron. At the gate he
allowed himself to be set down without protest, smiled importantly
through the bars, and thrust his arm through as far as it would reach,
that he might wave good-by. And his divinity smiled back at him, and
threw him a kiss, which pleased him mightily.

"You must have hurt milord's feelings pretty bad," Dick remarked. "I
couldn't get him to come. He had to write a letter first, he said."

"I wish, Dick," Beatrice answered, a bit petulantly, "you would stop
calling him milord."

"Milord's a good name," Dick contended. "It's bad enough to 'Sir' him to
his face; I can't do it behind his back, Trix. We're not used to fancy
titles out here, and they don't fit the country, anyhow. I'm like
you--I'd think a lot more of him if he was just a plain, everyday
American, so I could get acquainted enough to call him 'Red Hayes.' I'd
like him a whole lot better."