"You better let me lace that shoe--you won't have it done in a thousand
years, at that gait."

"If you're in a hurry," said she, without looking at him, "you can ride
on ahead. It would please me better if you did."

"Yes? You've been pleased all summer--at my expense. I'm going to
please myself, this time. It's my deal, Little Doctor. Do you want
to know what's trumps?"

"No, I don't!" Still without looking at him, she tied her shoelaces
with an impatient twitch that came near breaking them, and walked
haughtily to where Concho stood dutifully waiting. With an impulsive
movement, she threw her arms around his neck, and hid her hot face
against his scanty mane.

A pair of arms clad in pink-and-white striped sleeves went suddenly
about her. Her clasp on Concho loosened and she threw back her head,
startled--to be still more startled at the touch of lips that were
curved and thin and masterful. The arms whirled her about and held
her against a heart which her trained senses knew at once was beating
very irregularly.

"You--you ought to be ashamed!" she asserted feebly, at last.

"I'm not, though." The arms tightened their clasp a little.

"You--you don't SEEM to be," admitted the Little Doctor, meekly.

For answer he kissed her hungrily--not once, but many times.