As they came near the house, Leila said, “Catch me, I’ll run you home.”

“Tag,” he cried.

As they came to the side porch, Ann Penhallow said, “Finish that handkerchief—­now, at once.  It is time you were taught other than tom-boy ways.”

John went by into the house.  After dinner the Squire had his usual game of whist, always to the dissatisfaction of Leila, whose thoughts wandered like birds on the wing, from twig to twig.  John usually played far better, but just now worse than his cousin, and forgot or revoked, to his uncle’s disgust.  A man of rather settled habits, now as usual Penhallow went to his library for the company of the pipe, which Ann disliked, and the Tribune, which she regarded as the organ of Satanic politics.  Seeing both John and her aunt absorbed in their books, Leila passed quickly back of them, opened the library door, and said softly, “May I come in, Uncle Jim?”

During the last few days he had missed, and he well knew why, John’s visits and intelligent questions.  Leila was welcome.  “Why, of course, pussy cat.  Come in.  Shut the door; your aunt dislikes the pipe smoke.  Sit down.”  For some reason she desired to stand.  “Don’t stand,” he said, “sit down on my knee.”  She obeyed.  “There,” he said, “that’s comfy.  How heavy you are.  Good gracious, child! what am I to do without you?”

“Isn’t it awful, Uncle Jim.”

“It is—­it is.  What do you want, my dear?  Anything wrong with the horses?”

“No, sir.  It’s—­John—­”

“Oh! it’s John.  Well, what is it?”

“It isn’t John—­it’s John and the horses—­I mean John and Dixy.  Patrick rides Dixy for exercise every day.”

“Well, what’s the matter?  First it’s John, then Dixy, then John and Dixy, and then John and Dixy and Pat.”

The girl saw through the amusement he had in teasing her and said with gravity, “I wish you would be serious, Uncle Jim.  I want five minutes of uninterrupted attention.”

The Squire exploded, “Good gracious! that is Ann Grey all over.  You must have heard her say it.”

“I did, and you listen, too.  Sometimes you don’t, Uncle Jim.  I guess you weren’t well broke when you were young.”

“Great Scott! you minx!  Some day a girl I know will have to stand at attention.  Go ahead.”

“Pat’s ruining Dixy’s mouth.  You ought to see him sawing at the curb.  You always rode him on the snaffle.”

“That boy Pat needs a good licking, Leila.”

“But Dixy don’t.  The fact is, Uncle Jim, you’re neglecting the stables for politics.”

“Is that your own wisdom, Miss Grey?  What with the weight of wisdom and years, you’re getting heavy.  Try a chair.”

“No, I’m quite comfy.  It was Josiah who told me.  He often comes up to look over the colts, of a Sunday—­”

“Nice work for Sunday, Miss Grey.”

She made no direct reply.  “He told me that horse ought to be ridden by—­by John or you, and no one else.  He says the way to ruin a horse is to have a lot of people ride him like Pat—­they’re just spoiling Dixy—­”