“Go ’way, go ’way,” said Madge, taking the reins from his black hand.  “Ain’t no use o’ leadin’ her—­you jest watch her foller me!”

She looped the reins about the mare’s arched neck, started off, and, without so much as flicking her long tail, Queen Bess fell in behind, obedient to her cooing, murmurous calls.

Frank laughed.  “If,” he said to the whole party, “you wish to have a look at the mare’s quarters, I think Neb will now admit us.”

All but the Colonel started toward the stable, but he hesitated, looking toward Miss Alathea.  While the others had been spellbound by the girl and horse, he, the most enthusiastic horseman of them all, had been divided in attention between them and the lady whose notice he attracted, now, by means of sundry hems and haws.

“Miss ’Lethe, just a moment,” he said softly.  She paused and then went up to him.  He held out a newspaper, suddenly at a loss for words, now that there was a prospect of a moment with her wholly uninterrupted.  “Here,” said he, a little panicky, “is a full account of the revival, sermon and all.  Make your hair stand on end to read it.”

She took the paper, undeceived by his small subterfuge to gain attention, but interested, as she always was in such things, in the account of the revival.  “This really is interesting.”  She sat down on the bench, as they reached the stable-yard again, and pored above the newspaper.

In the meantime the Colonel tried to screw his courage to the sticking point.  “Colonel Sandusky Doolittle,” he adjured himself, “if you don’t say it now, then you forever hold your peace, that’s all!” He went to his buggy, which had been brought to the stable yard, and from underneath its seat took a box containing a bouquet of sweet, old-fashioned flowers.  Miss Alathea, absorbed in the account of the revival, did not notice him at all.  “This will do the business,” he reflected.  “Now, Sandusky Doolittle, keep cool, keep cool!” Nervously, as he gazed at her, his fingers worked among the flowers, dismembering them unconsciously.  “A Kentucky Colonel,” he was saying to himself in scorn, “afraid of a woman!” His fingers tore the flowers with new activity as his nervousness increased, making sad work with the magnificent bouquet.  “Of course she is an angel,” he reflected, and then, with a grim humor, “or will be before I ask her, if I wait another twenty years!  But I shall ask her, I shall ask her!” He stepped toward her boldly, but paused before her in a wordless panic when he had approached within a yard.  “Heavens!” he thought.  “My heart is going at a one-forty gait and the jockey’s lost the reins.  I’ll be over the fence in another minute if I don’t hold tight!  But I have got to do it, this time.”  He dropped the stems of the flowers, still bound together by their lengths of wide white ribbon, into the elaborate box from which, so lately, he had taken them in their uninjured beauty, not noting the sad wreck which his too nervous fingers had produced, put on the cover and approached still nearer.  With the box held toward her bashfully, he managed, then, another step or two.  “Miss ’Lethe,” he said stammering, “lawn party to-night—­bouquet for you—­brought it from Lexington—­for you—­for you, you know.”