Rupert’s thoughts were a mixture that morning, and flew from one thing to another:  the ditch which he was to clean and repair; the condition of the reservoir; the meeting of the school board; the planting of the garden; the dance at the hall in town; the wonderful spreading properties of weeds—­so on from one subject to another, until he came to a standstill, leaning on his shovel and looking over his farm and down to the town, fast growing into a city.  From a hundred chimneys smoke was beginning to come, befouling the clear air of the valley.

“It is a beautiful sight,” said he to himself.  “Six years ago and what was it?  Under whose hand has this change grown?  Mine.  I have done most of the work, and I can lawfully claim most of the credit.  Then it was worthless, and just the other day I was offered five thousand dollars for the place.  That’s pretty good.  Father couldn’t have done any better.”

Rupert was not given to boasting, but it did seem lately that everything he set his hand to prospered exceedingly.  This had brought some self-exalting thoughts into his mind; not that he talked of them to others, but he communed with them to himself, nevertheless.

That morning, as he rested his chin on his hands that clasped the end of his shovel, such thoughts swelled the pride in his heart, and his work was left undone.  The sun came suddenly from behind the peak and flooded the valley with light; still Rupert stood looking over the fields.  In the distance towards the left he caught sight of a horse and buggy coming at a good pace along the new country road.  He watched it drawing nearer.  A lady was driving.  Her horse was on its mettle this morning and the reins were tight.  They were at that ugly place where the road crosses the canal—­he was to repair it that morning—­He awoke from his dreaming with a start, but too late; the horse shied, a wheel went into the ugly hole, and the occupant was pitched into the dry bottom of the canal.  Rupert ran down the road shouting “whoa” to the horse which galloped past him.  The lady scrambled up before Rupert reached her.

“Are you hurt?” he inquired.

“No—­no, sir,” she managed to say.  She was pale and trembling.  “Can you catch my horse?  I think he will stop at that barn.”

“I’ll get your horse, never fear; just so you’re not hurt.  Let me help you out of the ditch.”

She held out a gloved hand and he assisted her up the bank.  She was just a girl, and he could have carried her home, had it been necessary.

“Thank you, sir, but could you get my horse, please?  There, he is stopping at that house.”

“That is where I live.  I’ll bring him to you, if you will wait.”

“Oh, thanks; but I can walk that far.  The fall has just shaken me up a little.  I shall soon get over it.”

They walked down the road to the gate.

“You must come in and rest,” said he, “and I’ll take care of your horse.”  She remonstrated, but he insisted, and brought her into the kitchen where his mother was busy with breakfast.  Rupert explained, and his mother instantly became solicitous.  She drew a rocking chair up to the fire and with gentle force seated the stranger, continuously asking questions and exclaiming, “Too bad, too bad.”