Carter, of course, furled her offending sun-shade, feeling snubbed and sore. It would have been childish and rude to persist, but she was not only hurt, but puzzled. Being from the rural regions she had not as her cousin suggested, any knowledge of the fact that it was not considered smart to raise a parasol on a coach. This sacred tenet was so strictly adhered to, however, that although it was a warm and dusty autumn day, the ladies endured the heat unmurmuringly, staring with haughty superiority at the coaches on which the people were pleasantly shaded by their parasols. By the time the entrance to the race-course was reached, Carter was completely miserable. She despised the trivial conventions to which she saw such importance attached, and she had a sense of suppressed rage at being forced into an inferior position by people to whom she felt herself superior. She was no more conceited than an only child, and an acknowledged belle and beauty might be excused for being, and she did know, in her heart, that she would have been incapable of treating the meanest slave on her father’s estate as unkindly as she felt that these people were treating her. No one noticed her as they went bowling along in the crowded procession of vehicles, until, near the entrance, they came to a sudden halt, the carriage in front of them having halted also. The footmen sprang down and went to the leaders’ heads, while necks were craned and eager questions put as to the cause of the blockade. It was apparent enough. One of a pair of oxen, engaged in some heavy draught in connection with the preparing of the track and grounds, had fallen down, or else thrown itself down in a fit of sullenness and could not be got to move. The animal was strong and fat, and looked more obstinate than ill, but it was impossible not to feel pity for a creature so beaten and belabored and kicked, as it was, by the men about it. The thing had apparently been going on for some time, and the men looked as if their efforts were well-nigh exhausted. Various suggestions were made and tried in vain. Many vehicles had emptied their passengers, and a crowd had gathered, while the ox, stubborn and defiant, still refused to budge. The party on the coach, from their high position, could see all that was happening, and cries of distress soon began to rise from them. “What are we to do?” “The creature hasn’t a notion of moving!” “We shall be kept here all day!” were some of the protesting remarks, through which a very sweetly modulated voice, with an accent so unlike theirs as to sound almost foreign, was heard to say: “I could make it get up, in half a minute.” “Hear! Hear!” cried Jim Stafford, turning toward the speaker, who was flushed, but perfectly composed. “Virginia to the rescue! Miss Ayr of Virginia undertakes to raise the stalled ox! Ten to one she does it!” The bet was eagerly taken by another man, and Carter found herself the center of interest.