Miss Desha, up on a big bay gelding with white stockings, was waiting on
the Logan Pike, where the driveway of Calvert House swept into it.

"Do you know that you're riding Midge, and that she's a hard case?" she
said ironically, as they cantered off together. "I'll bet you're thrown.
Is she the horse the major reserved for you? Surely not."

"No," said Garrison plaintively, "they picked me out a cow--a nice,
amiable cow; speedy as a traction-engine, and with as much action. This
is a little better."

The girl was silent, eyeing him steadily through narrowed lids.

"You've never ridden before?"

"Um-m-m," said Garrison; "why, yes, I suppose so." He laughed in sudden
joy. "It feels so good," he confided.

"You remind me of a person in a dream," she said, after a little, still
watching him closely. "Nothing seems real to you--your past, I mean. You
only think you have done this and that."

He was silent, biting his lip.

"Come on, I'll race you," she cried suddenly. "To that big poplar down
there. See it? About two furlongs. I'll give you twenty yards' start.
Don't fall off."

"I gave, never took, handicaps." The words came involuntarily to