“Oh, you must never ride soon in the morning without taking coffee first,” she replied. “That’s the way to keep well. We always have a big kettle of coffee for the field hands before they go to work. Their breakfast isn’t ready till ten o’clock, and the coffee keeps the chill off.” “Why is their breakfast served so late?” “Oh, they like it that way. They don’t want anything but coffee soon in the morning. They breakfast at ten, and then the time isn’t so long before their noonday dinner.” “I should think that an excellent plan,” answered the doctor. “As a hygienist I highly approve of it. After all it isn’t very different from the custom of the French peasants. But come, Miss Dorothy, Ben has the horses at the gate.” The girl, fresh-faced, lithe-limbed and joyous, hastily donned her long riding skirt which made her look, Arthur thought, like a little child masquerading in some grown woman’s garments, and nimbly tripped down the walk to the gate way. There she quickly but searchingly looked the horses over, felt of the girths, and, taking from her belt a fine white cambric handkerchief, proceeded to rub it vigorously on the animals’ rumps. Finding soil upon the dainty cambric, she held it up before Ben’s face, and silently looked at him for the space of thirty seconds. Then she tossed the handkerchief to him and commanded:--“Go to the house and fetch me another handkerchief.” There was something almost tragic in the negro’s humiliation as he walked away on his mission. Arthur had watched the little scene with amused interest. When it was over the girl, without waiting for him to offer her a hand as a step, seized the pommel and sprang into the saddle. “Why did you do that, Miss Dorothy?” the young man asked as the horses, feeling the thrill of morning in their veins, began their journey with a waltz. “What? rub the horses?” “No. Why did you look at Ben in that way? And why did it seem such a punishment to him?” “I wanted him to remember. He knows I never permit him to bring me a horse that isn’t perfectly clean.” “And will he remember now?” “Certainly. You saw how severely he was punished this time. He doesn’t want that kind of thing to happen again.” “But I don’t understand. You did nothing to him. You didn’t even scold him.” “Of course I didn’t. Scolding is foolish. Only weak-minded people scold.” “But I shouldn’t have thought Ben fine enough or sensitive enough to feel the sort of punishment you gave him. Why should he mind it?” “Oh, everybody minds being looked at in that way--everybody who has been doing wrong. You see one always knows when one has done wrong. Ben knew, and when I looked at him he saw that I knew too. So it hurt him. You’ll see now that he’ll never bring you or me a horse on which we can soil our handkerchiefs.” “Where did you learn all that?” asked Arthur, full of curiosity and interest.