“Tell those women on the veranda,” said Eloise, to the boy, “that I’m not taking any trunks and will soon be back.”

“What for?” queried Allan, as they drove away.

“Reasons of my own,” she answered, crisply.  “Men are as blind as bats.”

“I’m wearing glasses,” he returned, with due humility.  “If you think I’m fit to hear why you left that cryptic message, I’d be pleased to.”

“You’re far from fit.  Here, turn into this road.”

Spread like a tawny ribbon upon the green of the hills, the road wound lazily through open sunny spaces and shaded aisles sweet with that cool fragrance found only in the woods.  The horse did not hurry, but wandered comfortably from side to side of the road, browsing where he chose.  He seemed to know that lovers were driving him.

[Sidenote:  Horses versus Autos]

“He’s a one-armed horse, isn’t he?” laughed Eloise.  “I like him lots better than an automobile, don’t you?”

“Out here, I do.  But an automobile has certain advantages.”

“What are they?” she demanded.  “I’d rather feed a horse than to buy a tire, any day.”

“So would I—­unless he tired of his feed.  But if you want to get anywhere very quickly and the thing happens not to break, the machine is better.”

“But it never happens.  I believe the average automobile is possessed of an intuition little short of devilish.  A horse seems more friendly.  If you were thinking of getting me a little electric runabout for my birthday, please change it to a horse.”

“All right,” returned Allan, serenely.  “We can keep him in the living-room of our six-room apartment and have his dinner sent in from the nearest table d’oat.  For breakfast, he can come out into the salle a manger and eat cereals with us.”

“You’re absolutely incorrigible,” she sighed.  “This is the river road.  Follow it until I tell you where to turn.”

Within half an hour, the horse came to a full stop of his own accord in front of the grey, weather-worn house where Barbara lived.  He was cropping at a particularly enticing clump of grass when Eloise alighted.

“Going to push?” queried Allan, lazily.

“No, this is the place.  Come on.  You bring two of the suit-cases and I’ll take the other.”

[Sidenote:  Observations]

The blind man was not there at the moment, but came in while Miriam was upstairs packing Miss Wynne’s recent additions to her wardrobe.  Doctor Conrad had been observing Barbara keenly as they talked of indifferent things.  Outwardly, he was calm and professional, but within, a warmly human impulse answered her evident need.

He was young and had not yet been at his work long enough to determine his ultimate nature.  Later on, his profession would do to him one of two things.  It would transform him into a mere machine, brutalised and calloused, with only one or two emotions aside from selfishness left to thrive in his dwarfed soul, or it would humanise him to godlike unselfishness, attune him to a divine sympathy, and mellow his heart in tenderness beyond words.  In one instance he would be feared; in the other, only loved, by those who came to him.