“He is Bob Griffin, Uncle Foster,” she said. “He lives in Denboro.” There was a stir in the crowd, then a hush. Many of those present knew that Bob Griffin was Elisha Cook’s grandson. This meeting, under such circumstances, was momentous, it was epoch-making--something to be talked about at home, at the post office, everywhere. What would Foster Townsend say when he heard that name? He said very little. “Griffin?” he repeated. “Oh!... Humph! Yes, yes. Well, my niece and I are much obliged to you.” Bob, embarrassed, muttered that it was all right, he had not done anything. “Well, you did it pretty well, from what I hear.... Now, Esther, we’ll go home. You needn’t worry. They won’t run away again, not when I’m at the wheel.... Young man, if you will get down from there, I’ll get up.” Bob hastily climbed down from the dog-cart. Townsend took his place and the reins. Just then some one shouted his name and he turned. The shouter was Mr. Gifford. His gaudy cap was missing, the perspiration was dripping from his forehead and he was almost incoherent. “Cap’n Foster!” he panted. “Cap’n Foster! I--I--I declare I don’t know how that britchin’ come to bust that way! It was a brand-new britchin’, too. I never expected nothin’ like that. I swear I was--I was--” “Never mind. You can tell me about it later. You were lucky it didn’t lose the race.” “I know it. I know it. But _how_ can you foretell a thing like that? I never--well, when that bust--I--I--thinks I-- Now I leave it to anybody--I leave it to you, Esther--you can’t foretell a brand-new britchin’ is goin’ to up and bust on ye, now can ye?” The rest of his expostulations and excuses were unheard by the pair in the dog-cart. Foster Townsend had chirruped to the span and they were on their way to the mansion. Esther was prepared for cross-examination by her uncle concerning her meeting with Bob Griffin. He would ask how the latter came to be sitting beside her in the dog-cart, how long she had known him, all sorts of things. He might even forbid her speaking to him when they met again. Her conscience was dear; the meeting had been quite unpremeditated, and, even if it were not--if she and Bob were friends--she saw no reason for behaving other than she had. She meant to say just that. Just because Bob’s grandfather and her uncle had quarreled was no reason why she should refuse to be decently polite to a person with whom she had no disagreement. She was neither a child nor a slave. She had consented to give her uncle a trial, to live with him, but he had not bought her, body and soul. If he _did_ say-- But he did not. He asked questions, of course, but they were about the horses and the whereabouts of Josiah Smalley when they started to run. He seemed to blame himself more than any one else for the accident. His talk with Captain Ben Snow had delayed him, he said, then came the start of the race and he had forgotten everything else--including her.