Now that girl was pretty as a picture herself, with light hair and blue eyes, and kind of a big mouth. She was smiling even when she didn't know a thing. She was always smiling. She was dressed like she had lots of money; and she was fixed for riding--boots and some sort of pants. Bonnie Bell couldn't bring her to and she concludes to take her home to our house. First thing I know, there she was outside, hollering for me. "Come here quick, Curly!" says she. "Come help me carry her into the house." So I helped her. The girl still had her quirt in her hand and she was kind of white. "Who is she, Bonnie Bell?" says I; and she says she didn't know, and tells me to go and get a doctor. But while I was getting William to telephone--I couldn't use them things much myself--the girl comes to, all right; and she sets up and rubs her head. "Oh, what do you know about that!" says she. "He got me off. I thank you so much. Which way did he go?" she ast. "He was headed to the riding-school barn," says Bonnie Bell, "the last I saw of him. Your friends were all going the same way. So I thought the best thing I could do was to bring you here till you felt better." I don't reckon the girl was hurt bad, she being young; and such girls is tough. "Well," says she, "it certainly was nice of you. And how am I to thank you?" She kissed Bonnie Bell then for luck. "You're nice," says she, "and I like you." Bonnie Bell, if you'll believe me, was kind of timid and scared, with it being so long since any woman had said a kind word to her. She didn't hardly know what to say, at first, till the girl kissed her again. "I am Katherine Kimberly," says she. "We live just above the park. Where is this?" "This is just above the park too," says Bonnie Bell--"on the boulevard. This is Mr. John William Wright's place," says she, "and I'm Miss Wright. Can I serve some tea to you?" So she calls William. When William brings in the tea them two set up and begun to talk right sociable. This here Kimberly girl she rubbed her head once in a while, but she wasn't hurt much along of having so much hair to fall on her head with. The tea fixed her all right. "I hit my coco a jolt!" says she. "Gee! I was going some. I'll never ride that long-legged old giraffe again; he's nothing but a dog after all--not that I'm afraid, but I don't like him," says she. "Do you ride?" "Would you like to come and see my horses?" says Bonnie Bell. "If you like horses----" "Do I like them? I'm crazy over them! Can you ride?" "Oh, some," says Bonnie Bell. "Curly says I can." "Curly?" And she looks at me. "He's our foreman," says Bonnie Bell. "Talk to him if you want to know about riding--he's a rider." "I was once, ma'am," says I, "but not no more. I wouldn't get on a mean horse now for a thousand dollars. I'm scared of horses, ma'am; but she ain't"--meaning Bonnie Bell. "She still thinks she can ride any of 'em."