"A fellow who knows him very well told me that Harborough had fallen in love with a beautiful girl who was so unworldly that she might be induced to marry for love--if she cared." "Then why isn't he happy?" "Because he doesn't know whether she can ever care for him--except as a friend. He's sure she likes him pretty well, but there's nothing in that. I'm mighty ignorant about such things myself, but they say if a girl doesn't mind showing that she's your friend, and values you in a way, it's a sign she's a thousand miles off from falling in love with you. What's your opinion on the subject--as you seem to be rather interested in Harborough?" "My goodness, Mr. Brett, there's a cow looking at us. Oh, what _shall_ we do? It's the worst cow of all. It's putting its head down now. It doesn't like us. Oh, what an appalling beast. I believe it must be a bull." "It's a very young one," said he, calmly. "Now, don't be frightened. This is going to be nothing at all." "Are you _sure_?" "Can't you trust me?" "Yes. I know you won't let me be hurt. But you----" "Don't worry. Perhaps we shall have a little fun. Just wait." I could cheerfully have waited a hundred years, and then put it off again; but it didn't look as if we should have to wait long--not more than three-quarters of a dreadful second, with my blood in my head, and all the iced water I had drunk at Newport in my spine. The cows were delighted. Evidently they regarded the horrid, thick-necked brute as their champion. They didn't follow him towards us, but lifted their heads and stared complacently, as much as to say, "Isn't he a splendid fellow? _Now_ he's going to give them what they deserve." The rest happened so quickly it was all in a jumble. With a smile, Mr. Brett reached out and took my sunshade, which I'd closed. Just as the bull came at us, he opened it in the creature's face. The bull swerved a few inches, surprised; and the next thing I knew the sunshade was tossed away, Mr. Brett had seized the animal by his horns, and was vaulting on his back with a laugh. "Run to the nearest fence," said he. He did it as easily as if it were play, and so it seemed to be for him. The bull tore about, ramping and raving, while I obediently flew for the fence and scrambled over without ceremony. There I turned, panting, frightened, yet laughing in spite of myself. Mr. Brett's hat had fallen off, and his short hair was ruffled across his forehead. Riding the black and white bull, hanging on by legs, as well as arms, he looked like a runaway schoolboy, revelling in a mischievous "lark." His eyes sparkled, and his white teeth shone.