possibility of her selling it, or of Dunk as her agent. It was all
right, of course, if she wanted to do that with it, but--There was
something about it that hurt, and the hurt of it was not less, simply
because he could not locate the pain.

His mind fidgeted with the subject. If he could have saddled Silver and
gone for a long gallop over the prairie land, he could have grappled with
his rebellious inner self and choked to death several unwelcome emotions,
he thought. But there was Silver, crippled and swung uncomfortably in
canvas wrappings in the box stall, and here was himself, crippled and
held day after day in one room and one chair--albeit a very pleasant room
and a very comfortable chair--and a gallop as impossible to one of them as
to the other.

"I do wish--" The Little Doctor checked herself abruptly, and hummed a
bit of coon song.

"What do you wish?" Chip pushed his thoughts behind him, and tried to
speak in his usual manner.

"Nothing much. I was just wishing Cecil could see 'The Last Stand.'"

Chip said absolutely nothing for five minutes, and for an excellent
reason. There was not a single thought during that time which would
sound pretty if put into words, and he had no wish to shock the Little
Doctor.

After that day a constraint fell upon them both, which each felt
keenly and neither cared to explain away. "The Last Stand" was
tacitly dismissed from their conversation, of which there grew less