the window of her room, a tin of sardines and a box of crackers in
her lap, determined to see to it that Bob had something to eat.

There was a full moon, and the road lay like a white ribbon between
the silver fields. Betty could follow the lane road out to where it
met the main highway, and now and then the sound of an automobile
horn came to her and she saw a car speed by on the main road. Sitting
there in the sweet stillness of the summer night, she thought of her
mother, of the old friends in Pineville, and, of course, of her
uncle. She wondered where he was that night, if he thought of her,
and what would be his answer to her letter.

"Is that a horse?" said Betty to herself, breaking off her reverie
abruptly. "Hark! that sounds like a trotting horse."

She was sure that she could make out the outlines of a horse and
rider on the main road, but it was several minutes before she was
positive that it had turned into the lane. Yes, it must be Bob. No
one else would be out riding at that hour of the night. Betty glanced
at her wrist-watch--half-past ten.

The rhythmic beat of the horse's hoofs sounded more plainly, and
soon Betty heard the sound of singing. Bob was moved to song in that
lovely moonlight, as his sorry mount was urged to unaccustomed spirit
and a feeling of freedom.

"When in thy dreaming,
moons like these shall shine again,
And, daylight beaming,
prove thy dreams are vain."