Then she saw a horse leap through the gap in the fence and come galloping after the cows.  On the horse was a girl, not a large girl, but she was riding fearlessly, bare-back, and urging the horse to greater strides.  Her black hair was trailing in the wind as she waved a willow switch and shouted lustily at the cows.  She managed to head the cows off before they had reached Mildred, rounding them up sharply and driving them back through the breach into the road which they followed quietly homeward.  The rider then galloped back to the frightened girl.

“Did the cows scare you?” she asked.

“Yes,” panted Mildred.  “I’m so frightened of cows, and these were so wild.”

“They were just playing.  They wouldn’t hurt you; but they did look fierce.”

“Whose cows were they?”

“They’re ours.  I have to get them up every day.  Sometimes when the flies are bad they get a little mad, but I’m not afraid of them.  They know me, you bet.  I can milk the kickiest one of the lot.”

“Do you milk the cows?”

“Sure—­but what is that?” The rider had caught sight of the picture.  “Did you make that?”

“Yes; I painted it.”

“My!” She dismounted, and with arm through bridle, she and the horse came up for a closer view of the picture.  The girl looked at it mutely for a moment.  “It’s pretty” she said; “I wish I could make a picture like that.”

Mildred smiled at her.  She was such a round, rosy girl, so full of health and life and color.  Not such a little girl either, now a nearer view was obtained.  She was only a year or two younger than Mildred herself.

“I wish I could do what you can,” said the painter of pictures.

“I—­what?  I can’t do anything like that.”

“No; but you can ride a horse, and stop runaway cows.  You can do a lot of things that I cannot do because you are stronger than I am.  I wish I had some of that rosy red in your cheeks.”

“You can have some of mine,” laughed the other, “for I have more than enough; but you wouldn’t like the freckles.”

“I wouldn’t mind them, I’m sure; but let me thank you for what you did, and let’s get acquainted.”  Mildred held out her hand, which the other took somewhat shyly.  “Don’t you have to go home with your cows?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“Then we’ll go back together.”  She gathered her material and they walked on up the path, Mildred ahead, for she was timid of the horse which the other led by the bridle rein.  At the bars in the corner of the upper pasture the horse was turned loose into his own feeding ground, and the girls went on together.

“You live near here, don’t you?” inquired Mildred.

“Yes, just over there.”

“Oh, are you Carlia Duke?”

“Yes; how did you know?”

“Dorian has told me about you.”

“Has he?  We’re neighbors; an’ you’re the girl that’s visiting with the Trent’s?”