I could see her face was dreadfully pale. But she was just as straight in her saddle as she could be. “Not that way, Mr. England,” she said. He didn’t show the least surprise. (He is a thoroughbred, too.) “You lead,” he said; “I’ll follow.” And so we went on--to the wagon-yard, Mr. England looking at the sidewalk, Missy looking straight ahead. The gate was open. I went in, not stopping till I reached the door of my shanty. There, Missy got down. She was standing beside me as Mr. England came around the corner, and leaning a little upon me, one gloved hand reached up to the saddle. Mr. England strode close up to her, and they stood for a moment, her face raised bravely to his, his eyes searching her. “Oh, little woman!” he said, and his voice shook; “oh, little woman!” She took her under lip in her teeth. “There’s--there’s no reason for me to conceal anything,” she said. “Matters were a little tight at home, and I had to be economical.” He was looking at her as if he was bewildered. “Matters tight--at home----” he repeated. Then, of a sudden, he seemed to know what it all meant, and his face got as white as Missy’s. “Your father--then, your father----?” he began, almost chokingly. Missy looked straight back at him, and there was no more leaning against me. “Yes. And now you know why I didn’t want you to come here. It wasn’t because I was ashamed of this. It was because I knew you’d find out. And then you might think--might think that I felt there was something personal about it. You see, I realise there wasn’t. Father made contracts to deliver. Afterward, wool went up----” Mr. England groaned. “To think it reached you! That _you_ had to suffer.” “But I _haven’t_ suffered. Work was offered me here,--work in an art line. I have felt no hardship from it. In fact, there is happiness in earning a living. I am learning so much. The only disappointment I’ve had was about Hector. He’s not been quite as comfortable----” She stopped and caressed my shoulder tenderly. Something got into my wind-pipe then, and I had to mouth my bits to keep from coughing. “And where do you live?” asked Mr. England. “Not where you did. I went there--more than once.” “Well,--no-o--. But in a very nice place. I take my meals across from the store.” “The store?” “Yes. I am painting Christmas things--cards and so on. It’s pleasant work. And my room looks out on the side of a church. And there’s a stained-glass window there, and ivy all over the church wall.” Mr. England began again, low and deep and earnestly. “Once in a lifetime,” he said, “a man meets a girl like you--sweet and sensible and good, that can take a blow like this without a word, find her feet again, and begin her fight bravely, doing without things that are second nature to her, and going without comforts for a friend, even when that friend is only a horse!” “But I couldn’t do without Hector,” Missy declared. “I love him too much.” (I rubbed my nose against her sleeve.)