"I told you that horse could not bear the whip, Peter!" she
exclaimed, with wrathful gaze. "How dared you strike him?"

"Aw--I only touched him up a bit," drawled the youth. "You said
you could ride anything, didn't you?" and his grin grew wider.
"But I see ye had to get off."

Here Hiram could stand it no longer, and he blurted out:

"She might have been killed! I believe that horse is running
yet---"

"Well, why didn't you stop it?" demanded the other youth,
"impudently. You had a chance."

"He saved me," cried the girl, looking at Hiram now with shining
eyes. "I don't know how to thank him."

"He might have stopped the horse while he was about it," growled
the fellow, picking up his own reins again. "Now I'll have to
ride after it."

"You'd better," said the little lady, sharply. "If father knew
that horse had run away with me he would be dreadfully put out.
You hurry after him, Peter."

The lout never said a word in reply, but his horse carried him
swiftly out of sight in the wake of the runaway. Then the girl
turned again to Hiram and the young farmer knew that he was being
keenly examined by her bright black eyes.