He did not know what injury she might have sustained; She might have been seriously hurt, if not actually killed. And why? Simply to make it possible for him to win. The deacon shivered as he thought of it, and urged his horse to greater speed. The squire, down the lane, saw him whizzing along and accepted it profanely as an exhibition for his especial benefit. The deacon now had forgotten the squire as he had only so shortly before forgotten the widow. Two hundred yards from the drift into which she had jumped there was a turn in the road, where some trees shut off the sight, and the deacon’s anxiety increased momentarily until he reached this point. From here he could see ahead, and down there in the middle of the road stood the widow waving her shawl as a banner of triumph, though she could only guess at results. The deacon came on with a rush, and pulled up alongside of her in a condition of nervousness he didn’t think possible to him. “Hooray! hooray!” shouted the widow, tossing her shawl into the air. “You beat him. I know you did. Didn’t you? I saw you pulling ahead at the turn yonder. Where is he and his old plug?” “Oh, bother take him and his horse and the race and everything. Are you hurt?” gasped the deacon, jumping out, but mindful to keep the lines in his hand. “Are you hurt?” he repeated, anxiously, though she looked anything but a hurt woman. “If I am,” she chirped, cheerily, “I’m not hurt half as bad as I would have been if the squire had beat you, deacon. Now don’t you worry about me. Let’s hurry back to town so the squire won’t get another chance, with no place for me to jump.” And the deacon? Well, well, with the lines in the crook of his elbow the deacon held out his arms to the widow and——. The sisters at the next meeting of the Sewing Society were unanimously of the opinion that any woman who would risk her life like that for a husband was mighty anxious. FOOTNOTES: [27] From Harper’s Bazaar, April, 1911; copyright, 1911, by Harper & Brothers; republished by permission. GIDEON[28] By Wells Hastings (1878- ) “An’ de next’ frawg dat houn’ pup seen, he pass him by wide.” The house, which had hung upon every word, roared with laughter, and shook with a storming volley of applause. Gideon bowed to right and to left, low, grinning, assured comedy obeisances; but as the laughter and applause grew he shook his head, and signaled quietly for the drop. He had answered many encores, and he was an instinctive artist. It was part of the fuel of his vanity that his audience had never yet had enough of him. Dramatic judgment, as well as dramatic sense of delivery, was native to him, qualities which the shrewd Felix Stuhk, his manager and exultant discoverer, recognized and wisely trusted in. Off stage Gideon was watched over like a child and a delicate investment, but once behind the footlights he was allowed to go his own triumphant gait.