open ditch.

And he had played rescuer again--and in a much more heroic
manner. This was the daughter of the man whom he had thought to
be a prosperous farmer, and whose card Hiram had lost.

He had hoped the gentleman might have a job for him; but now
Hiram was not looking for a job. He had given himself heartily
to the project of making the old Atterson farm pay; nor was he
the sort of fellow to show fickleness in such a project.

Before either Hiram or the girl broke the silence--before that
silence could become awkward, indeed--there started into hearing
the ring of rapid hoofbeats again. But it was not the runaway
returning.

The mate of the latter appeared, and he came jogging along the
road, very much in hand, the rider seemingly quite unflurried.

This was a big, ungainly, beak-nosed boy, whose sleeves were much
too short, and trousers-legs likewise, to hide Nature's abundant
gift to him in the matter of bone and knuckle. He was freckled
and wore a grin that was not even sheepish.

Somehow, this stolidity and inappreciation of the peril the girl
had so recently escaped, made Hiram feel sudden indignation.

But the girl herself took the lout to task--before Hiram could
say a word.