Through it all James never lost command of the horses, nor Minerva of her voice. Her view halloo echoed over woodland and vale, and came to me from different points of the compass, and I began to feel that something serious was the matter, and now and again I had visions of bills for the repair of a carriage. When they reached the last quarter I could distinctly hear the “Stop thiefs!” of two voices, and so did Ethel, but both Mrs. Guernsea and her daughter were of those people who can attend to but one thing at a time, and they were busily engaged in talking, the mother to me and the daughter to Ethel. The way in front of our house is level and commands a view of the country for a considerable distance, and when James started on his last quarter, and had attained a steep hill, from where I sat (for I had insisted on bringing out chairs for us all) I could see Mrs. Guernsea’s delicately made carriage swinging from side to side of the road, James sitting erect, his wrists tight against his chest and Minerva letting out warwhoops on the back seat. Nearer and nearer they came, and at last Mrs. Guernsea heard the commotion and, putting up her lorgnon gazed in the direction from which the sound came. “Why he is going too fast!” said she. “He will lather the horses.” I felt quite sure that the lathering had already been well done, but I did not say so. “I’m afraid they are running away,” said I. “No,” said Miss Guernsea, rising to her feet and using her own eyes, “He is running away with them. He is being chased. Hear that? ‘Stop thief!’” Across the swampy land in front of our house I saw the running figure of a boy. He climbed the stone wall that edges the road, and panting violently rushed up to us. It was Bert. “Try to head him off,” said he. “He’s trying to steal that turn-out.” I did not believe it, even then. When I put my confidence in a man I don’t like to have it disturbed, and I won’t disturb it myself as long as there is a shadow of a chance to preserve it. The horses were running away, but it was not James’ fault. I was sure of that. A minute later the form of a man on horseback was seen cresting the hill, and after a longer interval the minister’s buggy topped the same crest. The last turn in the road is a few rods north of our house, and James guided the horses skilfully round that turn and stopped them in front of our house. This was partly because Minerva, having fainted, was no longer screaming, and partly because John’s horse had stumbled and thrown him. And the minister came in second, his horse panting.