“Oh, I dunno,” said Paul, who had given little attention to football and who in consequence, though giving great promise because of his unusual speed, had not won any great glory on the field that day. “I don’t care much for football anyway.” “Oh, Paul, I just love it. It’s a wonderful game.” “Oh, pshaw!” said Paul in contempt of a game in which he did not excel. “Oh, never mind,” said Peg cheerfully, “we won the jumps anyway. And Joseph was a regular deer in the racing.” “Wasn’t he?” exclaimed Paul, restored to good humour by the remembrance of his pinto’s achievements at the picnic, where he won premier honours from the field. “And, Paul, you were good to me,” said Peg shyly when they came to the bars. “Oh, shucks, Peg!” said Paul, greatly pleased. “You were, Paul. And that Adelina is just a bold thing.” “Oh, she isn’t half bad. Rides awfully well.” “Yes, she does,” acknowledged Peg, “but she has a wonderful pony. And don’t you think that cap she wore was awfully funny?” “Why! that’s a regular jockey’s cap, she told me.” “Jockey cap! For a girl!” Peg’s finer sensibilities were obviously offended. She, however, skilfully and lightly turned from distressing and disturbing subjects of conversation to one in which she was more deeply concerned. “But, Paul, you have never been over at our house once this summer,” she said reproachfully, “and you used to come every week at least.” “Why, Peg! I’ve been often over here.” “Yes, on some old business or other with Daddy.” “Oh! Well!” “Well! I don’t call that anything. You never see me—us, I mean. You never play for us. And you’re always so busy. And—and—Paul, you are just forgetting all about us.” This was going a long way for the proud-spirited Peggy. Paul considered a few moments. “Yes! I guess that’s so, Peg. But I _am_ busy, you know. And besides, they want me at home. They always want me to play for them before going to bed. Their mother used to sing queer little Indian songs about the beasts and the trees and the stars and things. And then I spin them out on the piano, you know. And the little one, she’s just wild over them and—you know—it is awfully hard for her, always in the dark— Oh, Peg, no light! It must be just terrible for her!” “I know, I know, Paul. You are just a dear to poor little Tanna. Oh, it is so awfully sad for her. And I am a pig to want you to come away from her.” “You’re not a pig, Peg,” said Paul indignantly. “You are just fine to Tanna, and I won’t ever forget that, Peggy.” They had turned Tubby out into the paddock and were standing in the soft light of the September moon near the corral. Peg’s voice grew very soft as she answered, “But I just love her, Paul, and I want to be good to her because I’m sorry for her—and—and because she is your sister. She _is_, isn’t she, Paul?” Peg finished a little breathlessly.