"Why, I can carry a sack of salt," he said, with boyish pride, standing before her very straight and looking down on her with frank eyes. Her eyes flashed in dudgeon over the comparison. "A girl is very different from a sack of salt." "Not always--Lot's wife, for instance. If you keep on looking back, you don't know what may happen to you. Come on." Just then a vehicle rapidly driven was heard in the distance, and the next moment it appeared in sight. "There comes mamma now," said the girl, waving to the lady in it. Mrs. Yorke sprang from the carriage as soon as it drew up. She was a handsome woman of middle age and was richly dressed. She was now in a panic of motherly solicitude. "Oh, Alice, how you have frightened me!" she exclaimed. "You were due at the hotel two hours ago, and when your horse came without you! You will kill me!" She clapped her hands to her heart and panted. "You know my heart is weak!" Alice protested her sorrow, and Keith put in a word for her, declaring that she had been dreadfully troubled lest the horse should frighten her. "And well she might be," exclaimed Mrs. Yorke, giving him a bare glance and then turning back to her daughter. "Mrs. Nailor was the first who heard your horse had come home. She ran and told me. And, oh, I was so frightened! She was sure you were killed." "You might be sure she would be the first to hear and tell you," said the girl. "Why, mamma, one always sprains one's knee when one's horse falls. That is part of the programme. This--gentleman happened to come along, and helped me down to the road, and we were just discussing whether I should go on farther when you came up. Mother, this is Mr. Keith." Keith bowed. He was for some reason pleased that she did not say anything of the way in which he had brought her down the Ridge. Mrs. Yorke turned and thanked him with graciousness, possibly with a little condescension. He was conscious that she gave him a sweeping glance, and was sorry his shoes were so old. But Mrs. Yorke took no further notice of him. "Oh, what will your father say! You know he wanted us to go to California; but you would come South. After Mr. Wickersham told you of his place, nothing else would satisfy you." "Oh, papa! You know I can settle him," said the girl. Mrs. Yorke began to lament the wretchedness of a region where there was no doctor of reputation. "There is a very fine surgeon in the village. Dr. Balsam is one of the best surgeons anywhere," said Keith. "Oh, I know that old man. No doubt, he is good enough for little common ailments," said Mrs. Yorke, "but in a case like this! What does he know about surgery?" She turned back to her daughter. "I shall telegraph your father to send Dr. Pilbury down at once." Keith flushed at her manner. "A good many people have to trust their lives to him," he said coldly. "And he has had about as much surgical practice as most men. He was in the army." The girl began again to belittle her injury.