again, to go pounding away, straight across a brilliant bed of
chrysanthemums and only pausing, for a moment, to gaze pensively
out over the front gate.

"Whoa, Job! Whoa, boy!" Mrs. Adams was calling in vain, while Jean
exclaimed spitefully,--

"Mean old thing! I'll never be sorry for him again! I didn't lean
back all the time we were gone, but just sat on the very front
edge of the seat and tried to make myself as light as I could."

Then followed an exciting chase, for Job appeared to have regained
all the agility of his far-off ancestors that roamed the plains at
their own sweet will. Such sudden wheelings! Such wild leaps! Such
frantic kicks! He refused to be coaxed; he cocked up his ears in
derisive scorn when they scolded him and requested him to whoa. He
had no intention of whoaing. He recognized from afar that a snare
lay hidden somewhere in the measure of oats which Mrs. Adams held
out before him, and he drew back his lips in a contemptuous smile,
as he capered away to the remotest corner of the grounds. The
pursuit lasted for an hour, and at the end of that time, Job
appeared to be far fresher than his pursuers, fresher even than he
had been at the start.

It was plain that nothing was to be gained in this way, so Mrs.
Adams and the girls retired to the house to take counsel, leaving
Alan to drive Job to the stable, and come back to dinner with the
others.

"I am tired, if he isn't," sighed Mrs. Adams, dropping into a