“A gentle knight was pricking on the plaine,” repeated Alison to herself as she rode along. “That could not have been my knight, for it was the Knight of the Red Cross. I don’t quite like that name, neither do I like Sir Scudamour. I think I like Sir Guyon or Sir Artegall the best. No, Steve would have to be Sir Guyon, because he lost his steed, that was stolen by Braggadochio; Pike Smith is more like the Blatant Beast, however. I think I am the Lady Florimell. My knight shall be Sir Artegall because of that magic sword Chrysaor. Well, here I am riding through the forest. Suppose I should meet the Blatant Beast or the Giant with the Flaming Eyes; I would call for help and my own true knight, Sir Artegall, would come pricking along ‘ycladde in mighty armes and silver shielde.’ I, on my snow-white palfrey would seem to him a vision of angelic loveliness. They always have flowing locks bound by a fillet of blue. Wait a minute, Chico.” She unfastened her fair hair and let it fall over her shoulders, binding it back with a blue ribbon from her neck. “My wanton palfrey should be overspread with ‘tinsell trappings,’ but we shall have to imagine those, Chico. On, on, my gentle steed, I fear the Blatant Beast. What, do my eyes deceive me, or is it a noble knight I see pricking this way?” She suddenly checked Chico in his progress, for there was, indeed, some one riding towards her, a man in the dress of a Texan Ranger, buckskins, hunting shirt and broad-brimmed sombrero. Alison felt not a sign of fear, but drew Chico to the side of the road and waited the approach of the man. As he drew near she gave a glad little laugh. “It’s Neal, Neal, Chico,” she whispered; “now we will have some fun,” and raising her voice she shrilled out: “Help, help, Sir Knight. I am pursued by the Blatant Beast.” Neal, for he it was, put spurs to his horse and galloped rapidly towards her. “Alison, Alison,” he cried, as he came up, “what is the matter? What is wrong?” “The Blatant Beast, he is there in the chaparral. Dear me, I shouldn’t say chaparral, I should say thicket.” She altered her voice. “Why, Neal Jordan, where did you come from?” “Never mind, tell me what is the matter. What frightened you?” “Why nothing, except an imaginary something. I was only playing that I was a lovely lady as I came along, and you came in the nick of time to fall into my whim, so I just called out to fool you.” “You are the same old Alison, I see,” said Neal, smiling. “Yes, I believe I am. One would suppose that I might stop playing such childish things by this time, but I like to do it.” Neal scrutinized her closely as she gathered her hair into place, dismounting in order to do so. “You are taller,” he said. “Why, I believe you are taller than your sister.” “So I am, but that is not answering my question. Where did you come from?” “Directly from Mexico. The war is practically over.” “And did you bring me something pretty for writing you that long letter?”