feeling -- little Calvinist of the hills that he was -- that it was not quite
right for him even to enter that church; and he would watch the little girl
come in with her family and, after the queer way of these "furriners," kneel
first in prayer. And there, with soul uplifted by the dim rich light and the
peal of the organ, he would sit watching her; rising when she rose, watching
the light from the windows on her shining hair and sweet-spirited face,
watching her reverent little head bend in obeisance to the name of the Master,
though he kept his own held straight, for no Popery like that was for him.
Always, however, he would slip out before the service was quite over and never
wait even to see her come out of church. He was too proud for that and,
anyhow, it made him lonely to see the people greeting one another and chatting
and going off home together when there was not a soul to speak to him. It was
just one such Sunday that they came face to face for the first time. Chad had
gone down the street after leaving the church, had changed his mind and was
going back to his room. People were pouring from the church, as he went by,
but Chad did not even look across. A clatter rose behind him and he turned to
see a horse and rockaway coming at a gallop up the street, which was narrow.
The negro driver, frightened though he was, had sense enough to pull his
running horse away from the line of vehicles in front of the church so that
the beast stumbled against the curb-stone, crashed into a tree, and dropped
struggling in the gutter below another line of vehicles waiting on the other
side of the street. Like lightning, Chad leaped and landed full length on the
horse's head and was tossed violently to and fro, but he held on until the
animal lay still.

"Unhitch the hoss," he called, sharply.

"Well, that was pretty quick work for a boy," said a voice across the street
that sounded familiar, and Chad looked across to see General Dean and
Margaret watching him. The boy blushed furiously when his eyes met Margaret's