He could not see her face--it was too close to him and his chin was higher than the top of her head. But he could not fail to catch the mirth in her voice: "Then you lied to Willard!" "Why, yes, ma'am; I reckon I did. You see, I didn't want to let Patches get all muddied up, ridin' over to Willard." "But you are riding him into the mud now!" she declared in a strangely muffled voice. "Why, so I am, ma'am," he said gleefully; "I reckon I'm sure a box-head!" He handed her down a minute later, beside Uncle Jepson and Aunt Martha, and he lingered another moment near her, for his proximity to her had set his blood tingling, and there was an unnamable yearning in his breast to be near her. He had passed hours in looking upon her picture, dreaming of this minute, or another like it, and now that his dream had come true he realized that fulfilment was sweeter than anticipation. He was hugely pleased with her. "She's a lot better lookin' than her picture," he told himself as he watched her. She had her back to him, talking with her relatives, but she did not need to face him to arouse his worship. "Didn't I know she was little," he charged himself, estimating her height, "she won't come anywhere near reachin' my shoulder." He had not forgotten Masten. And a humorous devil sported in his eye as he wheeled his pony and fixed his gaze on that gentleman. "Speciments travel around most anywheres," he reflected. "This here's a swell head with a grouch. I reckon he ain't a serious friend of hers, or she wouldn't have stood for me rescuin' her when he offered himself that generous." The recollection convulsed him, and he bowed his head over the pony's neck to hide the laugh. When he looked up, it was to see Masten standing rigid, watching him, wrath on his face. "I suppose I'm to stand here and freeze while you sit over there and laugh your fool head off!" shouted the Easterner. "I've got some dry clothing in my trunk on the wagon, which I might put on, if I could induce you to hurry a little." "Why, shucks. I come mighty near forgettin' you, Willard," said the rider. "An' so you've got other clothes! Only they're in your trunk on the buckboard, an' you can't get 'em. An' you're freezin' an' I'm laughin' at you. You've got a heap of trouble, ain't you, Willard. An' all because you was dead set on goin' to the left when you ought to have gone to the right." "Do hurry! Wont you, please?" said the girl's voice, close to his stirrup. He looked guiltily at her, for he had been about to say some vitriolic things to Masten, having almost lost patience with him. But at her words his slow good nature returned. "I'm sure goin' to hurry, ma'am."