“Cricky!” he exclaimed.  “What have you been up to now, Betsey?  Is this that English mare?  Isn’t she a beauty!  And you’ve been riding her?”

“I’ve been flying on her,” sighed Betty, “Don’t talk, Bob!  I never expect to travel so fast in the saddle again unless I become a jockey.  And I know I am growing too fat for that.”

CHAPTER XXII

ON THE BRINK OF DISCOVERY

The three girls and their boy friends remained at the farm until Dr. Pevy had set the bad fracture that Hunchie had suffered and the poor little man had been made as comfortable as he could be made at the time.  He had been badly shaken in falling so far at the barn, and the surgeon declared he would be confined to his bed for some weeks.

“And oo’s to take care of Ida Bellethorne, I ask you?” demanded Hunchie faintly.  “Mr. Bolter hexpects me to give hundivided hattention to ’er.”

“She shall have the best of care,” said Candace, the farmer, warmly.  “A mare like her ought to be bedded down in roses.  The way she took this little girl over the drifts was a caution.  She is some horse, she is!  We will give her the best of attention, Hunchie, never you fear.”

The cockney was so much troubled about his charge that he seemed to have forgotten Ida Bellethorne, the girl.  But Betty heard him say one thing to Ida before they left.

“You ought to be ’appy, Miss Ida, even if the mare was sold.  She brought a good price, and ev’rybody about Bellethorne Park knows as Mr. Bellethorne give ’er to you when she was a filly.  I ’ope you’ll come to see us again—­me and the mare.”

“I surely will, Hunchie,” said the English girl.

But when they came out of the house and bade the family good-bye, Betty saw that Ida was very grave.  Hunchie’s words seemed to have been significant.

It was late in the afternoon when the quintette arrived at Mountain Camp.  Mrs. Canary had expressed some anxiety about them, but Uncle Dick had scouted any peril that might threaten the young folks.  He admitted that he had overlooked some possibilities when he heard the full account of their adventures—­and especially of his niece’s adventures—­at the dinner table.

“I declare, Betty,” he said with some little exasperation, “I believe if you were locked inside a trunk with only gimlet holes to breathe through you would manage to get into trouble.”

“I think I’d be in trouble fast enough in that case,” answered Betty, laughing.

“I don’t know,” said Louise thoughtfully.  “Locked up in a box, you really couldn’t get into much harm, Betty.”

“Sure she could get into trouble,” declared Bobby.  “Bees could crawl in through the gimlet holes and sting her.”

“I’d like to have seen her jumping that fire on horseback,” sighed Libbie.  “It must have been wonderful!”

Mr. Gordon looked rather disturbed as he stared at his niece.