"I think I hear her now," said Glen, walking down to the gate, and flinging it open. "Look at that boy!" said Stillwater. "See, how his face lights up!" "It’s only natural," answered Mrs. Stillwater. "They all feel like that towards Indiana." "No," said Stillwater, watching Glen, "not just like that." "Yes," interpolated Mrs. Bunker, "he’s the same as the rest." "No," persisted Mr. Stillwater. "Not quite the same. Look at him out there! He’s a fine lad." They glanced at him, standing bare-headed, holding the gate and watching. His small, finely shaped head, with its well-modeled features, showing in relief against the sycamore tree near the gate. "He fought well for his country," continued Stillwater. "There are others," said Mrs. Bunker tersely. "That’s all right," responded Stillwater, while the clatter of horses hoofs came nearer. "Not all of them went like him—willing to give their heart’s blood." "Hurrah!" cried Indiana, entering the gate at full gallop, riding straddle, breathless, hatless, her yellow hair streaming behind her. Sitting aloft Circus, who was a tall horse, she looked like a little boy, a very young, tender, pretty boy, whose hair his mother could not yet bring herself to cut. She circled the mound in the centre of the garden, and pulled Circus up tightly at the steps. He reared at the suddenness of the check. Indiana sank forward on his neck, spent with her ride, and circled his head with her arms. "No more tricks, Circus," she murmured. "The show’s over; we’re just beat out, Circus." Glen took her in his arms, and lifted her bodily off the horse. A stable boy led him away. His shining black coat was covered with flecks of foam. "Give me a drink, someone!" said Indiana. "Not now, Indiana," pleaded Mrs. Stillwater, "you’re so warm." "I’m parched, I tell you," said Indiana, stamping her foot, and pressing her hand to her throat. Glen ran quickly to the well, and returned with the tin cup, which he held to Indiana’s lips. "Slowly," he said, holding the cup. "It’s warm," she said, snatching the cup, and spilling the remainder of the water. "Why didn’t you stop for me?" asked Glen. "I wanted to ride alone," answered Indiana, sinking down on the step. "I wanted to think—" "Think," echoed Stillwater. "Think," repeated Mrs. Bunker. "Writing a book, Indiana?" "Think!" said Glen. "If Indiana’s taking these notions, I guess I’d better say good bye." He put on his cap. "Don’t mind them, darling," said Mrs. Stillwater. She drew Indiana’s head down on her shoulder, feeling her hot cheeks and forehead solicitously. "She’s so warm—" "What’s the use of riding yourself out like that, Indiana?" said Mrs. Bunker. "Grandma Chazy," cried Indiana, starting up. "I’d rather have one mad gallop like that if it were the death of me, than take a slow gait for the rest of my life." "Indiana!" exclaimed Mrs. Stillwater.