“So I did; out of the dictionary.  There are a lot more of them there, if you want to know,” and Louise laughed.

“Oh!” at this point rose a yearning cry.  “Oh!” I just think he is too dear for anything!”

“Cracky!  What’s broke loose now?” demanded Tommy Tucker, jerking back his head to stare all around at the group on the brink of the high bank.

“Who is too expensive, Libbie?” asked Bobby, glancing at her cousin with a look of annoyance displayed in her features.

“Robert Henderson.  He is a hero!” gasped the plump girl.

“I know that hero has torn his coat,” Louise said, still gazing down into the ravine.

Of course Bob had played a heroic part; but the rest of those present would have considered it almost indecent to speak of it as Libbie did.  She continued to clasp her hands and gaze soulfully into the ravine.  Bob, having made sure that Betty was all right, had gone down to the bottom of the slope and helped the gray horse to its feet.  The animal was more frightened than hurt, although its legs were scratched some and it favored one fore foot when Bob walked it about.

“Dear me!” cried Betty, coming closer.  “Poor old Jim!  Is he hurt much, Bob?”

“I don’t believe so,” her friend replied.

“Can we get him up the bank?”

“I won’t try that if there is any outlet to this ravine—­and there must be, of course.  Say! do you hear that silly girl?”

“Who?  Libbie?” Betty began to giggle.  “She is going to make a hero of you, Bob, whether you want to be or not.  And you are——­”

“Now, don’t you begin,” growled Bob.

“I never saw such a modest fellow,” laughed Betty, giving his free hand a little squeeze.

“Huh!  Libbie will want to put a laurel wreath on my brow if I climb up there.  See!  There is a bunch of laurels right over there—­those glossy-leaved, runty sort of trees.  Not for me!  I am going to lead Jim out ahead, and you climb up, if you want to, and come along with the rest of the bunch.  Ride my horse, if you will, Betty.”

“So you’d run away from a girl!” scoffed Betty, but laughing.  “You are no hero, Bob Henderson.”

“Sure I’m not,” he agreed cheerfully.  “And I’d run away from a girl like Libbie any day.  I wonder how Timothy Derby stands for her.  But he’s almost as mushy as a soft pumpkin!”

With this disrespectful observation Bob started off with the gray horse and Betty scrambled up the bank down which she had plunged so heedlessly.

Bobby was one of those who had dismounted at the brink of the ravine, and she held out a brown hand to Betty as the latter scrambled up the last yard or two of the steep bank and helped her to a secure footing.

“Are you all right, Betty dear?” she cried.

“No.  One side of me is left,” laughed Betty.  “Wasn’t that some slide?”

“Now, don’t try to make out that you did it on purpose!” exclaimed Esther, the youngest Littell sister.