“It’s sheer poppycock to imagine that a girl like that can ever care for me,” he thought ruefully. He picked up the volume which had fallen unnoticed to the floor and carried it back to the shelf. As he did so a line caught his eye and he paused and read it: “He that is valiant, and dares fight, Though drubb’d, can lose no honour by’t.” “By jove,” he muttered, “Butler had some sense, after all!” Phillip and his sister were awaiting him before the porch. “Put your hat on and come along,” Phillip commanded. “We’re going over to the stable.” “All right, but I don’t need a hat,” John answered evasively as he joined them. “Oh, but I really think you’d better put one on,” Margaret said. “It’s so easy to take cold these days.” “Why, of course, I’ll get one.” John returned to the hall. But the choice was limited, and he finally selected a ridiculously small woolen cap which didn’t begin to go onto the back of his head. Phillip laughed loudly when he saw it. “You’re a sight!” he said. “Look just like Tommy Dutton of our class. He has a head like a big cannon ball and always wears a funny little green cap at the back of it. You can’t see the cap until Tommy has gone by. That’s Margaret’s, isn’t it, Margey? And, I say, you’ve got his!” “It’s of no consequence,” murmured John. “I can wear this beautifully if you don’t mind.” Margaret removed the sombrero and viewed it in astonishment that speedily gave place to dismay. The colour flooded into her face as she held the hat toward John. “I didn’t notice,” she said. “I’m very sorry. Will you change with me, please?” John did so. “I’m sure you didn’t know,” he answered gravely, taking pity on her confusion and forbearing to utter any one of the numerous gallant things that came into his mind. “There’s a penalty, isn’t there?” laughed Phillip. Margaret pretended that she had not heard, and John smiled at her brother ferociously and ranged himself alongside. “I’ll break your neck if you don’t shut up, Phil!” he muttered pleasantly. Phillip grinned back. “I wish I could blush the way you can, John,” he whispered. Later they rode; and John decided that if Margaret was captivating in the simple gowns he had seen her wear she was adorable in her close-fitting black habit. The way in which she managed the unruly Cardinal was marvelous, and John, trotting alongside on his staid mare, Ruby, experienced a vast contempt for his own horsemanship. They went westward, around the “hog-back,” over a broad, well-traveled highway which Phillip explained had been built during the war by the Northern army, past smiling, sunlit fields and comfortable, broad-porched houses. As they swept abreast up a hill Phillip reined in and listened intently with hand at ear. “What is it, Phil?” Margaret turned her horse and joined him. “I thought I heard a whistle,” he answered. John listened but caught only the stirring of the wind in the trees beside them. Phillip pointed to the roadway.