She longed to know what was the matter, for that something had gone wrong with him she was more than ever sure. Two years ago she would have demanded, with the familiarity of long acquaintance, an explanation of any cloud upon his brow, for she and Peter had been as good friends as seventeen and twenty-six may be, when the families of both are united by certain common interests. But somehow nineteen and twenty-eight had not yet recovered quite the old ground of mutual frankness, and Shirley’s anxious questions halted upon her lips. They had another gallop when they came to the smooth stretch, but this time, although Peter said, "That was a good one, was n’t it?" his face did not clear. Just before they reached home, however, he appeared to realise all at once that he must have been poor company, and said so, with a word of regret. "I don’t mind a bit," said Shirley. "One does n’t always feel like talking. And I know in your position, you must have a good many cares." "A few. I ’m afraid I ’m not good at carrying them, since I let myself keep them on my own shoulders, even on horseback. They fell off on the way out, but at the farm they climbed up Grayback’s tail again. I ’m sorry, for you ’ve been jolly company, and I ’ve honestly enjoyed the ride more than anything that has happened in a year." "We ’ll go again, then, on another half-holiday, and next time we ’ll leave Black Care behind altogether. Or, if you will take him along you shall introduce me. Will you?" Her look was so girlishly sympathetic and inviting, Peter could hardly be blamed for finding a ray of comfort in it, although he only said stoutly: "That would n’t be fair." "Indeed it would. What are one’s friends for? And Black Care does n’t like the society of two." "That’s true. But he’s not a desirable acquaintance, and I don’t mean to introduce him to you. Remember the pothooks--they ’ll keep you busy." He smiled as he said it, but Shirley persisted, more boldly, for she thought she detected the fact that it would be a relief to Peter to tell somebody his troubles, if his conscience would let him. "I ’ve seen, ever since I came home, that something was worrying you. It’s made me feel badly. Perhaps just telling would make it easier." "I should imagine it might. I ’ll think about it. Meanwhile, thank you for two fine hours. We ’re back just in time for your dinner--and my supper. Will you go to the house door, or dismount here at the stable?" "Here, please. And next Saturday we’ll go again, if you really care to." "I shall think about it through the week. Here you are--you don’t half let me help you. Success to the pothooks! Good-bye!" CHAPTER V BLACK CARE