Then Eloise looked up. Eloise was fifteen and lithe, with her red-gold hair just being put up, and so graceful and beautiful that Little Sister worshipped her, as did also Uncle Jack and Braxton Bragg, and Colonel Goff for that matter. Eloise had caught the wink that Uncle Jack gave, and understood it in an instant. For Eloise knew things, especially about horses. "And you really think Braxton Bragg and Princewood will eat up the field," she said ever so sweetly and respectfully to the old General. "My, I’d like ever so much to take the field end of that," she added indifferently, but winking at Uncle Jack. "My dear," said the old General, "I don’t gamble with sweet school girls; but if Princewood fails to make good, I’ll just give you that fine Whiteman saddle you’ve been wanting all the time——" "I can’t play a one-sided bet like that; it isn’t fair," said Eloise. "I’d like to be as generous as you are, sir, and put up a forfeit. But dear me," and she sighed like the exiled queen in the fairy tale, "I’m dowerless and own nothing." "Good," said Colonel Goff. "Brave girl! now that lets _me_ in. General, just let me take the bet off your hands. Now then, Eloise, I’ll take you dowerless—for you are a dower all unto yourself," he said, bowing grandly, "and I’ll bet you—mark me now—I’ll bet you that new English saddle mare I’ve just imported, against your own sweet self, that my friend the General’s Princewood will win that race!" "It’s a go," cried Eloise, rising gracefully and taking his hand, "red-leather-bargain-done-for-ever," she added laughing. The General looked pleased—he showed it in his bland smile and the vigorous nodding of his head. He whispered to Goff: "By gad, Goff, but all joking aside—she’ll make you the finest wife alive!" Eloise heard and looked over at Jack with a smile, but Jack’s head was down on his breast and there was no smile on his lips. Never remotely—in any way—in his dreams—(and being a poet, he dreamed often) had he thought of Eloise belonging to anyone but him!... It looked as if all the county was there on the fine fall day of the race. It was one of those sweet old country fairs where the yeomanry of the hills and the lassies from the valleys make holiday, and the heifers with polished horns share the glory with the fillies, bedecked with ribbons, and stepping proudly in air to music. The field was a large one; for the purse was rich and the honor even richer. "And Princewood’s a prime favorite, suh," chuckled the old General as he walked around, holding by the hand a little girl who went everywhere with him, and who wondered whether, after all, Uncle Jack really knew. And so hearing so much that was braggart of Princewood, she all but lost faith: as is the way of us all if we do not touch, now and then, the shrine of our Truth.