an old felt hat on her head, standing with her fingers tangled in the
mane of a chestnut horse.

If there was a heartache in the work, if the brush touched the slim
figure caressingly and lingered wistfully upon the face, no one knew but
Chip, and Chip had learned long ago to keep his own counsel. There were
some thoughts which he could not whisper into even Silver's ear.






CHAPTER XVIII.
Dr. Cecil Granthum.



The Little Doctor leaned from the window and called down the hill to
her recovered patient--more properly, her nearly recovered patient;
for Chip still walked with the aid of a cane, though by making use
of only one stirrup he could ride very well. He limped up the hill
to her, and sat down on the top step of the porch.

"What's the excitement now?" he asked, banteringly.

"I've got the best, the most SPLENDID news--you couldn't guess what in a
thousand years!"

"Then I won't try. It's too hot." Chip took off his hat and fanned