Only those in the immediate neighborhood had seen and heard what passed, and even they were so preoccupied by the paramount excitement of the moment, that, in their eagerness to follow the horses now flying away down the track, they forgot to think about the girl who had saved the day by some occult authority which she possessed, and so she managed to slip through the crowd almost unobserved, and to regain her seat upon the coach, followed by Stafford in a state of ecstacy over her success. Meantime, the horses, like a pack of hounds, were bunched together on the other side of the course, but now the grey could be seen to be steadily gaining, and soon the red and white colors could be distinguished. Quicksilver was ahead, and every instant was an advance for him. As his slight young rider, leaning forward with his mount, rose in his stirrups, and rested in delicate poise, the breeze whipping into fluttering folds the striped silk of his shirt, and seeming to blow backward, in its strong current even Quicksilver’s lowered ears, the crowd sent up a wild yell of enthusiasm, in which one alien-sounding voice was heard exclaiming: “Good for you, Little Tom!” The voice was so low, however, that no one heard it very plainly except Stafford, and now, as the race ended, with Quicksilver first, and no second, he turned delightedly to his companion, saying: “Good for you, Miss Ayr of Virginia! It was you who saved the day, and now will you be good enough to tell me how you did it? If ever I saw a creature determined to go his own way and defy consequences, it was that angry negro, until you spoke to him, when he came down like a lamb. How you managed it--(and without even the aid of mud!)--is what I want you to explain.” “O, there is nothing wonderful in it when you come to find out,” said Carter. “It’s our Little Tom, who ran off from home some time ago and his mammy has been grieving for him ever since. Of course when I spoke to him, he would not dare to disobey me.” “So it appeared,” said Stafford, “though he did not scruple to disobey and defy a dozen determined men! I must say I don’t understand it. And since he is a grown man, why do you call him ‘Little Tom,’ may I ask?” “To distinguish him from the other Toms on the place,” said Carter. “There were so many of them--Little Tom, and Tom, and Uncle Tom, and Old Uncle Tom, and Old _Old_ Uncle Tom.” This explanation, which Carter made so simply, proved immensely amusing to the men of the party, who laughed and enjoyed it sufficiently to hide, in part, the lack of enthusiasm which the ladies had shown. Stafford insisted on going and looking Little Tom up, and bringing him to drink a glass of champagne in honor of his triumph. He came, sheepishly enough, when he heard who had sent for him, though he had borne himself with a good deal of swagger in the crowd where Stafford found him.