and parallel with the fence, and as they went by the boy strained eager widening eyes, for on the pony was his cousin Mavis Hawn, bending over her saddle and yelling like mad.  This way and that poor Mollie swerved, but every way her big startled eyes turned, that way she saw a huge beast and a yelling demon bearing down on her.  Again the horses crashed, the pony in the very midst.  Gray threw himself from his saddle and was after her on foot.  Two others swung from their saddles, Mollie made several helpless hops, and the three scrambled for her.  The riders in front cried for those behind to hold their horses back, but they crowded on and Jason rose upright on the fence to see who should be trampled down.  Poor Mollie was quite hemmed in now, there was no way of escape, and instinctively she shrank frightened to the earth.  That was the crucial instant, and down went Gray on top of her as though she were a foot-ball, and the quarry was his.  Jason saw him give her one blow behind her long ears and then, holding a little puff of down aloft, look about him, past Marjorie to Mavis.  A moment later he saw that rabbit’s tail pinned to Mavis’s cap, and a sudden rage of jealousy nearly shook him from the fence.  He was too far away to see Marjorie’s smile, but he did see her eyes rove about the field and apparently catch sight of him, and as the rest turned to the hunt she rode straight for him, for she remembered the distress of his face and he looked lonely.

“Little boy,” she called, and the boy stared with amazement and rage, but the joke was too much for him and he laughed scornfully.

“Little gal,” he mimicked, “air you a-talkin’ to me?”

The girl gasped, reddened, lifted her chin haughtily, and raised her riding-whip to whirl away from the rude little stranger, but his steady eyes held hers until a flash of recognition came—­and she smiled.

“Well, I never—­Uncle Bob!” she cried excitedly and imperiously, and as the colonel lumbered toward her on his sorrel mount, she called with sparkling eyes, “don’t you know him?”

The puzzled face of the colonel broke into a hearty smile.

“Well, bless my soul, it’s Jason.  You’ve come up to see your folks?”

And then he explained what Marjorie meant to explain.

“We’re not hunting with guns—­we just chase ’em.  Hang your artillery on a fence-rail, bring your horse through that gate, and join us.”

He turned and Marjorie, with him, called back over her shoulder:  “Hurry up now, Jason.”

Little Jason sat still, but he saw Marjorie ride straight for the pony, he heard her cry to Mavis, saw her wave one hand toward him, and then Mavis rode for him at a gallop, waving her whip to him as she came.  The boy gave no answering signal, but sat still, hard-eyed, cool.  Before she was within twenty yards of him he had taken in every detail of the changes in her and the level look of his eyes stopped her happy cry,