He threw himself into hard work, and the days passed healthily. Mrs. Gervase had begun to relax her vigilance, to breathe almost free of care, when, upon one of his morning rides, ahead of him in a forest glade, he espied Gladys Eliot, in the saddle, attended by one of the Prettyman boys, a youngster of thirteen, mounted on a polo pony in process of "showing off" his and his master's accomplishments. At the sound behind them, both Gladys and the boy turned to look; and Grove saw that he could not retreat without a decided lack of dignity. He therefore rode by them, receiving from Miss Eliot a faint and chilly nod; from the boy,--an acquaintance of last year,--a more cordial salutation. "I say, Mr. Grove, _can't_ Punch take that fallen tree?" cried out the lad, in shrill treble. "_She_ says it's dangerous, because the bank is caved. Hold on one minute, and I'll show you he can clear it, bank and all." Punch, proving nothing loth, jumped the obstacles in question gallantly, but on the far side slipped on something, and spilled his rider among a bed of tall bracken, in which the boy lay, lost to sight. Both Grove and Gladys were in a minute at his side, shocked at finding him white and senseless. "It was not the fall," she said, rapidly. "He has heart-trouble, and his mother is always anxious about a sudden shock for him. He will outgrow it probably, the doctors say. Here, you hold him in your arms, while I get water from that brook. I know what to do, and he will soon come to himself." Grove found himself silently obeying her behests. He was struck by her prompt presence of mind, her deftness, and good sense. "What an admirable trained nurse is lost to the world in her!" he thought, and, when all was done, and the boy gave token of returning life, sat still, content to crush down moss and ferns, awkwardly holding his burden, while Gladys knelt so close that her breath in speaking fanned his cheek. "It wasn't Punch's fault. I've got a big bee buzzing in my head," were the welcome words they at last heard from the sufferer. "Yes, I know, Jim dear, but don't talk now till the big bee flies away," and the boy, closing his eyes, appeared to sleep. "Lay his head on my lap, and then, if you don't mind riding back and ordering some sort of a trap, without letting his mother know--" "I can't leave you here. It is too far from home, and the country hereabouts is quite bare of dwellings. Nor would I like you to ride so far alone. There; let him sleep, and we will watch him till he wakes. No doctor could have treated him more cleverly than you." "It's the result of a 'First Aid to the Injured' class I went to once, perhaps. But I always had a knack with ill people," she said, dropping the deep fringes of her eyes upon damask cheeks. * * * * *