Although Lanky Wallace had won considerable renown that day by reason of his leading the string of long-distance runners, and by such remarkable time, he seemed to think more of the fact that he was expected to get a rig, and take Dora to the farm of her parents, quite a number of miles north of Columbia, where the Harrapin became almost like a creek. Lanky could look back to pleasant days spent at that same farm. And yet he really believed that he had never contemplated visiting the Baxter home with more lively anticipations of pleasure than on this occasion. Promptly at the time appointed he drove up to the Allen house with a horse and buggy. That it was not a thoroughbred Lanky privately admitted to Frank, when the other joked him on the appearance of the steed. “That’s all right,” he said in Frank’s ear; “takes longer to get there. Some people, when they’ve got a good thing, don’t know how to string it out. I do. That’s why I declined the use of a horse that could go a mile in three minutes. Why, honest now, Frank, this nag’s so steady that the livery man said a one-armed boy could drive him.” No doubt, on the long ride up to the farm a full explanation and reconciliation took place between Lanky and Dora. He only too gladly forgave her when she pleaded that she was only a silly little girl, but that she had learned a lesson; and they agreed to be as good friends as ever. It must have been fully midnight when Lanky drove that “very steady” horse at a pretty swift pace back into town, and the way the animal covered the ground on the return journey might have surprised Dora, could she have known of his performance. And Lanky had good reason to feel rather well satisfied with the events of that Saturday, which must always be marked with a white stone in his history. There was now only one more thing on his mind--the clearing of the mystery concerning the identity of the little child in the gypsy camp. No word had as yet come from the party to whom he had sent that long message, costing himself and his chum more than three dollars. In another week the great athletic meet was to take place. “Well,” mused Lanky, as he prepared to go to bed in the small hours of Sunday morning, after returning the rig to the livery stable where it had been procured; “I hope something _will_ turn up before the gypsies move away. I’d hate to spend all that coin for nothing; and never know whether I was a smart guesser, or just a simple fool, for thinking that baby girl could be the long-lost Effie Elverson. P’raps I’m due for another little streak of luck. They say it always hunts in threes. But, as Frank tells me, I mustn’t worry. This business came out jolly well; and p’raps the other may. Wow! but I’m sleepy, though, and that bed looks fine. So it is good-night for me.” CHAPTER XV AN ACCIDENT BETRAYS RUFUS “I guess yesterday was your big day, all right, Lanky!”