She drew rein and fished what seemed to be salted almonds from her sweater pocket. She filliped one of these into the air, and caught it in her mouth with a lazy toss of the head that showed the firm contour of her lovely throat. I had never seen her more self-possessed. "Do you care much for this horse?" she asked, carelessly. "It's a good horse; I fancy Miss Octavia thinks so herself. There are places, Hezekiah, where they hang people for horse-stealing." "Thought I might need one to-day, so I borrowed him,--through the back way to the old red barn. The coachman is an ancient chum, and Aunt Octavia would never mind even if she knew. And she will know all right! Anyhow, my rear tire had been patched once too often, and there is a satisfaction in a horse! Where's our sensitive and impressionable Wiggy? Saw him riding over toward Kisco yesterday P.M. with chin on his chest,--dreadful riding form." "Wiggins is at Orton's,--the playwright's, you know. I've telephoned him to hustle back, but he's out of our reach somewhere. I could n't speak to him direct; had to leave a message for him." "Just like Wiggy to die on the last lap. What did you make out of brother Pepperton?" "Your note scared me,--thanks so much for your note,--but he's all right. Engaged to another girl." "Ah," she sighed, "it's comforting that Cecilia could n't keep them all going all the time." We rode along together, our horses in a walk, and I told her everything I knew of the condition of affairs, including a true account of my experiences at the inn the day before and of the finding of the old chest belonging to Wiggins's great-grandfather,--her brown eyes opened wide at this,--concluding with the diphtheria stratagem and Dick's menace to Cecilia's happiness. "He's really a bright little boy. Coming home on the steamer he gave me a post-graduate course in pragmatism that I've found helpful in keeping house for papa. It's too bad we have to lay a trap for Mr. Dick." "Is it? Just how are we to manage that, Hezekiah?" "Oh, that will be easy enough. He's pretty desperate, and since the compact between the suitors has gone to pieces he knows he will have to show his hand pretty soon. He thinks you are wild about Cecilia. He lays great stress on his thinking powers, and he probably argues that you are bound to pop pretty soon. It's just as well he thinks so, but we must finish this up to-day; I'll be a nervous wreck if we don't close the books to-night. There's your friend Dick now." She indicated a high point in the main road, where it crossed the ridge from which she had shown me--it seemed, oh, very long ago!--the procession of suitors crossing the stile. Dick, mounted, was gazing off across the fields toward Hopefield. Man and horse were so distant as to create the illusion of an equestrian statue on a high pedestal. "Napoleon before Waterloo," I suggested.