flight by some impish spirit amongst them, galloped and frisked away
over the green turf, until, curious again, they circled back, halted
at gaze, and then, led by one particularly saucy chestnut filly, drew
up in half a circle before the riders, with alert pricking ears.

Graham scarcely saw the colts at first. He was seeing his protean
hostess in a new role. Would her proteanness never end? he wondered,
as he glanced over the magnificent, sweating, mastered creature she
bestrode. Mountain Lad, despite his hugeness, was a mild-mannered pet
beside this squealing, biting, striking Fop who advertised all the
spirited viciousness of the most spirited vicious thoroughbred.

"Look at her," Paula whispered to Dick, in order not to alarm the
saucy chestnut filly. "Isn't she wonderful! That's what I've been
working for." Paula turned to Evan. "Always they have some fault, some
miss, at the best an approximation rather than an achievement. But
she's an achievement. Look at her. She's as near right as I shall
probably ever get. Her sire is Big Chief, if you know our racing
register. He sold for sixty thousand when he was a cripple. We
borrowed the use of him. She was his only get of the season. But look
at her! She's got his chest and lungs. I had my choices--mares
eligible for the register. Her dam wasn't eligible, but I chose her.
She was an obstinate old maid, but she was the one mare for Big Chief.
This is her first foal and she was eighteen years old when she bred.
But I knew it was there. All I had to do was to look at Big Chief and
her, and it just had to be there."

"The dam was only half thoroughbred," Dick explained.

"But with a lot of Morgan on the other side," Paula added instantly,