"Lady wants to see you out in the paddock."

"Who is it?"

"Mrs. Robinson."

"I don't know any Mrs. Robinson."

"He means Little Dimples," Mr. Miaco informed him.

"Oh."


Phil hurried from the tent. Dimples was sitting on a property
box,
industriously engaged on a piece of embroidery work. She made a
pretty picture perched up on the box engaged in her peaceful
occupation with the needle, and the lad stopped to gaze at
her admiringly.

Dimples glanced down with a smile.

"Does it surprise you to see me at my fancy work? That's what
I love. Why, last season, I embroidered a new shirt waist every
week during the show season. I don't know what I'll do with
them all. But come over here and sit down by me. I ought to
thank you for saving my life this afternoon, but I know you would
rather I did not."