“Well, Iry he’s the contrariest feller I ever see. He’d walk up to a cannon’s mouth as easy as git out, but when it comes to facin’ a ‘No’ from Lou Sparks he’s ready to run. Kain’t no other kin’ o’ sparks skeer him, but that red head o’ hern knocks his wits outen him. Mebbe you could sorter let Lou understand thet fac’; a gal kin do them things when a man kain’t.” “All right,” said Alison. “I’ll see what I can do.” “I’ll fetch yer crittur up fer ye,” said Bud. And Alison entered the house to make ready for her ride. CHAPTER VIII ANOTHER ADVENTURE FOR ALISON Turning her little pony’s head down the road, Alison cantered in the direction of Cyrus Sparks’s cabin. It was rather a lonely ride, but she had taken it several times, knew the way perfectly, and felt no fear. Part of the road led over the prairie, but beyond this was a bit of woodland, and further off the road branched; the turning to the left leading to Cyrus Sparks’s. Though she had not long been riding her pony Alison had every confidence in the little beast and was growing fond of him, although at first she had declared that Chico could never supersede Hero in her affections. Since Christine, however, had established a tacit right to Hero, Alison thought she must be provided with something to ride or else stay at home, so Chico had been found for her by Pedro, approved of by Bud, and she was now his proud possessor. Having reached the cabin Alison dismounted, hitched her pony to the fence, and entered the house without ceremony. She had seen Cyrus out in the hog-yard and knew he was not within. But she did not expect to find herself face to face with the unwelcome countenance of Pike Smith, who sat glowering in one corner. Alison had always been repelled by this silent individual who paid her sparse courtesy at the best of times, and who now did not move from his chair, nor give her more of a greeting than a grunt and a nod. “Where is Louisa?” asked Alison, pausing on the door-sill. Pike jerked his thumb in the direction of the lean-to and Alison, without further words, passed through the room and on to the kitchen in the rear. Here she found Louisa, red of face and brisk of movement, beating eggs. “Why Allie Ross,” she exclaimed, dropping her beater and extending her hand. “I surely am glad to see you. Set down. I’ll hev this cake in the oven before you can turn around and then I’ve a power of talk to get rid of. The good Marster must have sent you here to-day.” “Why?” asked Alison, as she sat down on the rough bench and watched Louisa deftly mix her ingredients together. “Oh, there are lots of whys. I’ll tell you in a minute. Pike Smith still in there?” she asked in an undertone. Alison nodded yes. Louisa made a contemptuous mouth. “Wish he’d git out,” she continued, still in a low voice, stirring her batter vigorously and then slipping the yellow, smooth mixture into the pan.