"Why, father returned, saw Mr. Garrison raise his hat in answer to my
thanks, and, thinking he had tried to scrape an acquaintance with me,
threw him out of the seat. He did not recognize him."

"That must have been a little bit tough on Garrison, eh?" laughed
Garrison idly. "Now that you mention it, it seems as if I had heard it."

"I've always wanted to apologize to Mr. Garrison, though I do not know
him--he does not know me," said the girl softly, pleating the gelding's
mane at a great rate. "It was all a mistake, of course. I wonder--I
wonder if--if he held it against me!"

"Oh, very likely he's forgotten all about it long ago," said Garrison
cheerfully.

She bit her lip and was silent. "I wonder," she resumed, at length, "if
he would like me to apologize and thank him--" She broke off, glancing
at him shyly.

"Oh, well, you never met him again, did you?" asked Garrison. "So what
does it matter? Merely an incident."

They rode a furlong in absolute silence. Again the girl was the first
to speak. "It is queer," she moralized, "how fate weaves our lives. They
run along in threads, are interwoven for a time with others, dropped,
and then interwoven again. And what a pattern they make!"

"Meaning?" he asked absently.

She tapped her lips with the palm of her little gauntlet.