Naturally enough, when John saw his mistress’s horses coming toward him at a pace considerably above that indulged in by himself (when he was driving for her), he was at first dumbfounded and then angered. To him what had occurred was as plain as the nose on his face. Mrs. Guernsea had been asked into the house by us, and this impudent scamp had seized the opportunity to take his girl out for a ride. “Here, stop. Get out of that!” he yelled. James replied by some piece of impertinence that served to increase the coachman’s anger, and picking up a stone he let drive at James, but hit the flank of the nigh horse instead. He, feeling the unwonted sting, plunged forward, communicated his fear to his mate, and the two horses began to run away. We at the house heard Minerva’s familiar screams, but I set it down to a new animal that had come to her ken, as I knew that James was a capable driver. As for Mrs. Guernsea, she was telling us something about the evening that the English primate took dinner at her house on Madison Avenue, and she did not notice Minerva’s cries. James had been familiar with horses from his boyhood, and he would have brought the pair under his control before long, but John was a man of action, and when he saw the horses start on a mad run, and also saw a boy (Bert, in fact,) riding horseback, he yelled to him: “Lend me that horse, boy. My team is being stolen.” Bert, having just passed the run-a-way, jumped quickly from his mount and John took his place and turning the horse, dashed after James. The run-a-ways, hearing the clatter of hoofs behind them, ran the harder and Minerva’s screams steadily increased in pitch and volume. At the first turn James guided the horses to the left and calculated that before the two miles were made they would be winded, for their gait was tremendous. As John made the turn, crying “Stop thief” at the top of his lungs, he passed the minister who had just passed us and who was going back to our house—for as it turned out, he wished to see me. He heard the hue and cry, and bidding his wife get out of the carriage and wait for him, he whipped up and started in pursuit. And Bert, deprived of his horse, but unwilling to be deprived of so much excitement cut across lots, that he might see the race on its last quarter. This much I afterward learned from him.