"No; but Dabney was the boy that pushed him in for doing it, and then
helped me up. Dab rubbed his face with snow for him, till he cried."

"Just like him!" exclaimed Annie with emphasis. "I should think his
friends here will miss him."

"Indeed they will," said Jenny, and then she seemed disposed to be quiet
for a while.

The party could not last forever, pleasant as it was; and by the time
his duties as "host" were all done and over, Dabney was tired enough to
go to bed and sleep soundly. His arms were lame and sore from the strain
the ponies had given them; and that may have been the reason why he
dreamed, half the night, that he was driving runaway teams, and crashing
over rickety old bridges.

There was some reason for that; but why was it that every one of his
dream-wagons, no matter who else was in it, seemed to have Jenny Walters
and Annie Foster smiling at him from the back seat?

He rose later than usual next morning, and the house was all in its
customary order by the time he got down stairs.

Breakfast was ready also; and it was hardly over before Dab's great new
trunk was brought down into the front-door passage by a couple of the
farmhands.

"It's an hour yet to train-time," said Ham Morris; "but we might as well
get ready. We must be on hand in time."