to-night, so I shall get along nicely."

"Very well, dear," her father replied. "You are just like your mother,
always planning for someone else, and planning so well, too."

Dan's heart thrilled with pride and delight as he sat by Parson John's
side and watched Midnight swinging along at her usual steady jog when
there was no special hurry. So intent was the one upon watching the horse,
and the other upon his sermon, that neither noticed a man driving a
spirited horse dart out from behind a sharp point on the left, and cut
straight across the river. It was old Tim Fraser, as big a rogue as
existed anywhere in the land. He was very fond of horses, and that winter
had purchased a new flier. He was an incessant boaster, and one day swore
that he could out-travel anything on the river, Midnight included. He laid
a wager to that effect, which was taken up by Dave Morehouse, who imagined
the race would never come off, for Mr. Westmore would have nothing to do
with such sport. Old Fraser, therefore, set about to meet Parson John, but
for some time had failed to make connection. Hearing about the funeral, he
was determined that the race should come off that very Sunday, and in the
presence of the mourners and their friends at that. He accordingly hid
behind Break-Neck Point, and with delight watched the parson drive up the
river, and at the right moment he started forth for the fray. As Fraser
swung into line and was about to pass, Midnight gave a great bound
forward, and it was all that Parson John could do to hold her in check,
for she danced and strained at the reins as her rival sped on ahead. At
length Fraser slowed down, dropped behind, and, just when Midnight had
steadied down, up he clattered again. This he did three times in quick
succession, causing Midnight to quiver with excitement, and madly to champ
the bit. At length the climax was reached, for the noble beast, hearing
again the thud of her opponent's hoofs, became completely unmanageable.