Later he caught sight of a blue flutter in the swing; investigated and saw that it was Miss Bridger, and that the Pilgrim, smiling and with his hat set jauntily back on his head, was pushing the swing.  They did not catch sight of Billy for he did not linger there.  He turned short around, walked purposefully out to the edge of the grove where his horse was feeding at the end of his rope, picked up the rope and led the horse over to where his saddle lay on its side, the neatly folded saddle-blanket laid across it.  “Darn it, stand still!” he growled unjustly, when the horse merely took the liberty of switching a fly off his rump.  Billy picked up the blanket, shook the wrinkles out mechanically, held it before him ready to lay across the waiting back of Barney; shook it again, hesitated and threw it violently back upon the saddle.

“Go on off—­I don’t want nothing of yuh,” he admonished the horse, which turned and looked at him inquiringly.  “I ain’t through yet—­I got another chip to put up.”  He made him a cigarette, lighted it and strolled nonchalantly back to the grove.

CHAPTER XI.

"When I Lift My Eyebrows This Way."

     “Oh, where have you been, Billy boy, Billy boy? 
     Oh, where have you been, charming Billy?”

Somewhere behind him a daring young voice was singing.  Billy turned with a real start, and when he saw her coming gayly down a little, brush-hidden path and knew that she was alone, the heart of him turned a complete somersault—­from the feel of it.

“My long friend, Dilly, was busy, and so I—­I went to look after my horse,” he explained, his mind somewhat in a jumble.  How came she to be there, and why did she sing those lines?  How did she know that was his song, or—­did she really care at all?  And where was the Pilgrim?

“Mr. Walland and I tried the swing, but I don’t like it; it made me horribly dizzy,” she said, coming up to him.  “Then I went to find Mama Joy—­”

“Who?” Billy had by that time recovered his wits enough to know just exactly what she said.

“Mama Joy—­my stepmother.  I call her that.  You see, father wants me to call her mama—­he really wanted it mother, but I couldn’t—­and she’s so young to have me for a daughter, so she wants me to call her Joy; that’s her name.  So I call her both and please them both, I hope.  Did you ever study diplomacy, Mr. Boyle?”

“I never did, but I’m going to start right in,” Billy told her, and half meant it.

“A thorough understanding of the subject is indispensable—­when you have a stepmother—­a young stepmother.  You’ve met her, haven’t you?”

“No,” said Billy.  He did not want to talk about her stepmother, but he hated to tell her so.  “Er—­yes, I believe I did see her once, come to think of it,” he added honestly when memory prompted him.

Miss Bridger laughed, stopped, and laughed again.  “How Mama Joy would hate you if she knew that!” she exclaimed relishfully.