"Who wants to go to ride with Lone Star and me?" Colonel Gresham asked. There was a duet of "I's" from the girls. David said nothing. "Sorry my buggy will permit of only one invitation. We shall have to draw cuts, shan't we?" Three lengths of straw were made, the Colonel arranging them as if he were used to the business. The children eyed them with lively interest. "You choose first, Patricia," Polly said, and they watched breathlessly while her fingers wavered in front of the big, steady hand before daring to pull. Finally she plucked at one. It was the longest of all. "Oh, dear!" she lamented. "Now, Polly!" bade David. "That will leave you Hobson's choice," she laughed; but he motioned her on, and she caught at the nearest one. It was an inch shorter than the remaining straw, and she smiled up at the Colonel. "Miss Dudley, may Lone Star and I have the pleasure of your comradeship for the next hour?" he invited, bowing low. "I shall be very happy to go," she laughed, sweeping him a little curtsy. Presently the carriage was ready, Polly and the Colonel jumped in, and Patricia and David sent merry good-byes in the wake of Lone Star's flying feet. "I can't help being glad I won," confessed Polly, drawing a long breath of delight at the drive in store for her. Colonel Gresham smiled responsively, tucked the linen duster a little closer, asked her if she were quite comfortable, and then began a little story in the life of his favorite horse. As they passed through the pleasant streets, between front dooryards banked with flowers, the talk after a while led quite naturally to climbing roses for the Colonel's own house. "If only you could see Mrs. Jocelyn's roses!" Polly wished. "There couldn't be any lovelier ones." She told him of the great single Silver Moons, and pictured them on his own piazza, until he said he must surely have some. "Oh!" cried Polly, the thought suddenly popping into her head, "why can't we go round to Mrs. Jocelyn's and see hers? It won't be very much out of our way, and then you can tell just how they'll look. You know Mrs. Jocelyn, don't you?" Colonel Gresham nodded gravely. "Then you won't mind going to see her roses, shall you?" Polly chattered on. "She has a big rose garden at the side of the house, lots of beautiful ones; but I 'most know you'll like the Silver Moon kind best." "I don't believe I like any kind of roses," the Colonel broke out abruptly. "They have too many thorns. Somebody would always be getting scratched if they were on my piazza. I reckon I won't have them, after all." Polly started to speak, looked up, and then shut her lips on the words. The stern set of her companion's face forbade talk. Yet in a moment it softened, the words came again, and this time they were not forced back. "Roses are so beautiful, and the thorns are so little I forget about them." She halted, but the Colonel did not respond.