He rode with the two girls every-day, because Mrs. Hassal did not
like them going long distances alone; and, seeing Judy seldom walked
her horse, and Meg's steed had not a canter in it, it fell out that
he kept beside the slow and timid rider all the time.

"You remind me of a little sister I had who died," he said slowly to
Meg once, after a long talk. "Perhaps if she were alive now I should
not be quite so contemptible."

Meg's face flushed scarlet, and a shamed look had come into her eyes.
It seemed altogether terrible to her that he should know she knew of
his failing.

"Perhaps it makes her sorry now," she said in a whisper he scarcely
heard, and then she grew pale at her boldness, and rode on a little
way to hide her distressed looks.

On the way home the pale-blue ribbon, that tied the strands of her
sunny plait together, blew off. He dismounted and picked it up.
Meg stretched out her hand for it, but he untied the bow and folded
it slowly round his big hand.

"May I keep it?" he said in a low voice. "For my blue ribbon?
I know the conditions that attach."

"If you would--oh, if you would!" Meg breathed rather than said.
Then Judy galloped up and they rode home three abreast. It was
such happiness to her all the hot, long days that followed; to a
girl just entering life there can be no purer, deeper feeling of
pleasure than that brought by the knowledge that she is influencing